A Hero Past the 25th: Old Empire by I'mFiction

Category: Original

Genre: Action, Adventure, Anti-Hero Lead, Comedy, Fantasy, Female Lead, Grimdark, Magic, Martial Arts, Summoned Hero

Status: In-Progress

Published: 2018-06-10

Updated: 2018-09-11

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

Warnings: Gore Profanity, This fiction contains:

Chapters: 17

Words: 129,402

Publisher: www.royalroad.com

Summary:

Have you heard this? In the fabled land of Ortho, the eve of ruin draws near, and people are summoned from another world.

One of those people was not like the rest…

Having survived through the infamous Darkwood, Itaka Izumi journeys to the heart of the Tratovian Empire, seeking vengeance against the sovereign himself. In the City of Lords, Bhastifal, Izumi and her friends wind up as pawns in a devilish game, with the highest stakes.

BOOK ONE | BOOK TWO

Preface

A year ago, it looked extremely unlikely that I’d be writing this story. After all, pouring your heart and soul into text after a long day of training and work is not an easy thing to do, if not outright impossible. Still, that doesn’t mean I had no intention of writing this. There was no way I could be fully content with leaving things the way they were at the end of Paradise Lost. So I continued to write in brief, sparse moments of peace, without much confidence or hope of success. But somehow, after so long, a new story did come together.

From today on, you’ll be seeing the results.

If there's something I hope then it's that by doing this I can inspire readers out there to keep struggling for what they love, even without hope, even with the odds against them.

Please enjoy.

Prelude

Picture a scene like this.

Picture majestic Bhastifal, once called the City of Lords, home of heroes, laid out at your feet. It reaches as far as the eye can see, spread open like a vast, finely detailed clam shell, adorned with the immaculate black pearl that is the Imperial Palace, on a great hill overlooking the surrounding districts.

Picture yourself standing on a vantage point there, atop of the enormous palace complex and take a slow look around. See the numerous tall, elegant minarets around you, oozing exotic mysticism, their sharp, copper-plated spires pointed at the heavens like the defiant lances of soldiers of old.

Look further down, past the towers, past the walls of the inner city, at the countless houses of pale stone closely huddled together down the hill, with their gorgeous garden terraces, slanted, red-tiled rooftops, and open air atria. Far, so dizzyingly far below you, at the base of those stately buildings, runs an entangled network of narrow, cobbled streets, and wide, regal boulevards, as an endless, bewildering maze. No one strolls those streets at this late hour, not on a godless night like this, save perhaps for a few stray drunkards, lost and looking in vain for a way back home.

Yes, picture yourself there, at the height of the modern world, on the glistening, slippery roof of the Imperial Palace, battered by the fiercest of storms. Truly, the mother of all storms, which lights up the dark skies with long, crackling bolts of lightning, accompanied by low, resonant booms, the echoes of which travel far, far into the distant horizon, where the silent mountain range of Abserym looms.

Let us take a step back and look closer now.

On the lofty rooftop of the great palace with us, even in this hideous weather, stand two figures.

Two rather distinct characters, whipped by the ceaseless rain.

All they have in common is surely only their smallness before the forces of nature, yet there they stand, with no one between them, nothing above them, everything below them, a man and a woman.

They have been brought to this place by a strange fate, one laden with irreconcilable differences. No human words—or words of any language known—may even begin to bridge the dispute dividing them.

Watch closely, as the other one, the woman of a somewhat difficult-to-determine age, holds up a gorgeous greatsword in her hand. High overhead, pointed forward is the weapon, its holder poised to attack with the apparent intent to run through the black-clad man defenseless at her feet.

It seems that tonight, we are about to witness a murder.

Now, picture time stopping.

The ferocious gale and downpour all grind to a sudden halt, those myriads of tiny droplets stilling mid-fall. Look closer still. At the water rebounding off of the bright blade in the woman’s grip, at the fingers tightly coiled around the handle, knuckles paled in an expression of fury and determination. All of this simply stops for our convenience.

What do you suppose brought this tragedy about?

What would that man, looking in vain for a way to escape on the precarious floor, say in his predicament, were he given the chance to freely speak in his own defense? With the time stopped like this, we are obviously unable to hear his voice, but his thoughts and feelings remain nevertheless apparent on his frozen face, in his defiant eyes, which reflect a strong spirit even on the verge of a painful demise.

He would probably say something like this:

“Fool! You cannot slay me! I am the Lord of Lords, the master of all Noertia! I am the sole ray of hope that brings light to the darkness of this world! The future of mankind rests upon my shoulders! Without me to unite them, all the nations and all of the races will drift apart, unable to achieve anything of worth! Our world will be plunged into the endless darkness of the Age of Chaos, whence there’s no return! I and only I have the power and wisdom to keep this from happening! Kill me here and you will have only doomed all those who you love and cherish!”

Yes, he would no doubt boldly argue his case to the bitter end, justifying his existence, his actions for the future generations.

Then, what would his to-be slayer say in turn?

That woman clutching her unreasonably large sword, the desire to kill apparent on her grim countenance, her deep frown, and the lips tightly pressed together—what would she say?

Probably something along these lines:

“Yup, that's me, Itaka Izumi, the summoned hero from planet Earth. You're probably wondering why I'm about to impale this poor bastard in a place like this. No, you think you already know. But you don’t. Not really. You can't even begin to imagine. If you want to find out the real reason, then we’re going to have zip back in time for a bit, about six days or so. It's a bit of a pain, so you don't have to, if you don't want to. But you’ll do it, right? I just know you will.”

Chapter 1: The Summoned Hero Makes a bit of a Mistake

1

There is an old saying in the grand Empire of Tratovia, probably originating from the various provinces around it, once proudly independent and since conquered and assimilated into the endlessly expanding hydra.

“To defeat an enemy of the Empire, show him to Bhastifal.”—So the saying goes.

Nothing cryptic or deep about it, the meaning is plain.

By anecdotal evidence, the sight of the Imperial capital city alone is generally more than enough to cripple the fighting spirit of any warrior from the less developed world. Already well before their feet should reach the brass gates of Selenoreion, the city’s innermost district, they would be asking to be let off, dizzy and disoriented, and abandon any thought of challenging such a thing.

Suppose you would have to see it for yourself to understand.

The test of will begins roughly sixteen miles from aforementioned gates, down the central highway, where the farmlands feeding the Empire’s subjects begin. Measured and evenly divided in mathematical precision by the Imperial engineers, those fields seem to go on indefinitely, no strand taller than the rest.

Beautiful verdant green in the spring, lustrous gold in the fall, those fields serve as one visible sample among many of the Empire’s abundant wealth and prosperity.

Following the fields, as their natural continuation, come villages with their modest, wooden huts and cottages, fences, barns, sheds, taverns, stubby stone mills built near clear little streams, and other obligatory accessories of human habitation.

Nothing too shocking yet.

However, one might eventually come to pay attention to how oddly close these villages have been raised to one another. The next comes already within a stone's throw from the last, so that you can't too easily tell where one hamlet ends and the other begins—or if they're not, in fact, only one lengthy village, spread thin and roughly kneaded, like a poor man's bread loaf.

Right as travelers approaching the capital begin to grow accustomed to the rustic scenery, there come the manors and villas of the local lords, yarls, and the summer houses of high-ranking officials, each one a bit taller and fancier than the previous. Those mansions typically stand on small, lonesome hills, like watchposts, keen supervisors overseeing the hard-working peasants at their feet.

Unlike the thinly spaced huts of farmhands, the lords keep their residences a polite distance apart—but by no means so far that the neighbors wouldn't be able to tell without binoculars how well life fares for them. So it is at first, anyway.

Then, you find the distances between those fanciful estates grow shorter and shorter. Soon one will be hard-pressed draw a clear line between them. Stealthily have the crude huts from before traded place with the bourgeoisie villas and so closely are those villas and their colorful orchards moved that nothing superfluous may go betwixt.

This way, the airy villages and their lonesome overseers have been mixed and distilled into legitimate towns, with solid houses of hard brick and slanted, tile-coated roofs, where rainwater doesn't so easily find a way in. It’s as if everyone lives in a mansion, all of a sudden! There is no more place left for oat fields or cattle between these dignified homes.

Looking down, the wayfarer will see that the ragged cart path has been upgraded into a proper street, featuring occasional forks and intersections, and reliable bridges to help it safely cross the few rivers dividing the neighborhood.

House follows another with even more intimate pacing. There is no more room for the buildings to spread sideways—they grow taller instead, story upon story. Above those of pure practical utility, there appear establishments of culture. Postal offices, theaters, galleries, even antiquarians. There are general stores of a more refined character, scribes, tailors, barbers, banks as well, and blacksmiths who forge decorative elements and small trinkets instead of shovels and horse shoes.

This is where the less experienced traveler first begins to feel inexplicable discomfort.

He realizes he has become unable to confirm his bearings by gazing into the horizon anymore—for no horizon line can be perceived past all the buildings. Even the sky has been reduced only to a narrow streak of blue high overhead.

We have journeyed for hours already, with only more and more houses coming into view, bigger and bigger. How long has it taken to construct all of them, anyway? How can they all be filled by people, people, and more people? How can there be so many humans in the world!? How is it even possible to bring so many together in an organized manner? Imagine if they were to all pick up spears and shields—who would be able to resist such a mob? It would surely sweep away everything on its path from the eastern range of Hirnhan to the western shores of Luctretz, without too much trouble.

The mere thought brings cold sweat to a humble tourist’s brow, even though it's warm in Bhastifal all year round.

Fortunately, the many citizens one sees here all look peaceful and carry no arms. Indeed, the only contact with war the inhabitants of these parts have is the occasional Imperial platoon marching by on the way to field training, or a mission of great importance and confidentiality. There is no reason for caution or unrest.

Nevertheless, the urban avalanche doesn't stop.

Indeed, it has only just begun.

Torenelion, the outer zone, and Bureilion, the suburban zone have been left behind, and the traveler comes to a wall.

The first perimeter wall of the urban zone, Eskeleion.

The tall, closely standing houses limiting our visibility has become something to be grateful about. Taking our imaginary barbarian friend to the rooftop of one, to show him the view that awaits us ahead—would surely be an act of bullying. For what he believes to be the heart of modern civilization is merely one small part of one modest district, among many, many more. The idea would doubtless make him faint on the spot. Remaining comfortably on the ground level, we still have the time to gradually brace our hearts for what’s to come and retain our dignity.

We move through Eskeleion, where most of the common people of Bhastifal live. Higher still do the buildings grow. The idea of climbing up along the wall of one for a better view—you should give up on it, for your own safety.

Some districts have a bit of a reputation, so wandering outside at night is strongly advised against. Especially if you have a purse burdened by too much silver or wear expensive-looking clothes. If you must venture to such parts regardless, at least hire a rough-looking mercenary or two to guard your step.

Of course, law is upheld with commendable valor and efficiency by the Imperial Army’s urban division, but size and numbers have their regrettable downsides. No matter what manner of a world, a nation, or a universe it is, villains always seem to be one short but distinct step ahead of the sword of justice. Just like there are those who have everything, there are also those who have nothing left to lose, while their ambitions in life are equally great.

We occasionally pause to admire the elaborate hanging gardens atop some of the breath-taking apartment complexes, their cubic terraces of stone, some as high up as eight stories above the street level. You might also see housewives hanging laundry to dry along the various ropes dangling between the houses, tied from one windowsill to the next. Along the way, have a look at the splendid statues of granite and marble, representing mythical beasts, gorgeous women, and steadfast warriors; quench your thirst of the little fountains found in small yards and tight corners of the narrow, stone-paved streets, before heading on.

But that’s strange, doesn’t it seem like everything here is slightly at an angle?

That would not be your imagination. The streets have indeed begun to ascend towards the east, so that you soon find yourself facing an uphill walk.

Perhaps this is far enough.

The journey can end in this peaceful neighborhood, where you can look up a decent inn at your leisure, and sleep away the fatigue from your travels. Your natural curiosity has been sated, you have already seen plenty, surely no one’s mind can digest more than this in just one brief day?

True, if you felt even the slightest bit overwhelmed by the sights you've come across until now, then you had better take off a day or two in Eskeleion. Let it all sink in before even thinking about moving on.

But, perhaps a stop isn’t an option for you.

Regrettably, some travelers may be in a great hurry and are therefore unable to enjoy even a brief respite. They press on, even as they grow light-headed, and after a lengthy ride uphill through the urban district, they finally dive out from the shaded alleyways to the wide Triumph’s Square, where the sight of a magnificent gate awaits them.

That would be Ptoloios's Gate.

We laconically call it a gate, but a man torn from a village in the northern Cotlann, or the remote ports of Melgier, would see a mountain instead. Not many would have the understanding or courage to turn their chins up high enough to recognize the shape as something artificial.

Over one hundred and forty feet wide and more than three hundred tall, Ptoloios's gate is an angular block of red-brown, straight-cut rock, with only a narrow passage pierced through. All of that is a single piece of earth, sculpted into the shape of a minimalist gateway of prodigious proportions.

How could human hands build such things?

The answer to that one would be simple—they never did.

The truth is that this gate existed here long before people did. No one alive today was there to see it raised. Was it made by magic? Or was it built by some now gone race, superior to humans in stature as well as ability, who then exited the pages of history without even a passing mention, their achievements appropriated by the rising Empire of men? You will have to ask one of the scholars at the Imperial Academy for that. Nothing would make them happier. Even if you are likely to receive a different answer each time, depending on which professor you ask.

No matter.

In this hasty fashion, we have rushed straight through the outer districts of Bhastifal, giving you but a taste of the city and all it holds. Books far more verbose have been written on her splendors and each day spent living there would give more than enough material to write a few more.

But, we happen to be in a hurry.

As breath-taking as the city could be from a tourist’s point of view, to Itaka Izumi, hailing from the 21st century Tokyo, even magnificent Bhastifal was only a “fantasy city” like any other, and secondary before her ultimate objective.

No symphony of trumpets greeted the small group of elite soldiers, the proud knights of the Stohenkartes, as their weary horses neared the Gate of Ptoloios.

Regardless of the silence, it was pointless to even dream that their less than glorious return had gone unnoticed. Already before the travelers had the first huts on the edge of Torenelion in their sights, the news of their return had reached the Imperial Palace.

That news was simply not worthy of a fanfare—as much was obvious by a glance—and the travelers themselves were better than aware of this. The only soundtrack for their unlikely homecoming was their weary mounts’ hooves lazily clip-clopping on the Triumph’s Square’s artistically patterned pavement.

Colonel Miragrave Marafel, riding in front as the commander of those sad knights, lowered her gaze from the fearsome gate and its guards, and spoke to the woman riding beside her. Technically, the horse was ridden by someone else and that woman, Itaka Izumi, entirely unfamiliar with the art, could only tightly hold onto the rider to not fall off.

Behind the gate, high up on the rocky hill of Meuvelie, awaited Selenoreion, the inner district, and the Imperial Palace with its countless towers, walls, and appendices, a fortress built upon fortresses.

“Now do you see it?” the Colonel asked Izumi. “What you plan would be beyond a God. You will never make it. Draw your sword here and you will only face one inexhaustible platoon after another, and a ceaseless storm of arrows.”

“Are you that worried about me?” Izumi lightly chimed in return, not particularly discouraged. “Thanks, I love you too!”

“...Where does that endless confidence stem from?” Miragrave heavily sighed. “Or is it plain madness? You do realize I need only to say the word and you will burn at the stake by sunrise?”

“Maybe. But you're not going to say it, are you? Not even a word. Because you know as well as I do that this Emperor of yours blows and everyone will be better off without the guy. So if you consider yourself a real Americ—I mean, a patriot, you'll play along quietly now and pretend you knew nothing. It’s not like you lose anything, even if I fail, right?”

“Thinking so only goes to show how little you understand,” the Colonel wryly remarked. “For the record, it matters not to the Emperor whether I knew of your childish intentions or not. Should you fail, I would hang all the same, together with everyone involved.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll fail,” Izumi gave her bold opinion without a hint of shame.

“Hm,” Miragrave could only snort at Izumi's optimism—arrogance. “Do as you will. It makes no difference to me. Not anymore. I am already dead and so are my men. For failing our mission, for all that we’ve lost, just to come back empty-handed.”

“They’re that heartless around here?” Izumi frowned. “Then why come back at all? You could've stayed at Luctretz. Ask for a political asylum. Hole up in somebody's embassy? Worked pretty well for some people.”

“I've come to report back, because it is my duty as a soldier,” the Colonel solemnly answered. “And because this is my home.”

“Hmmm.”

Naturally, Izumi couldn't understand. Getting away from home had been her lifelong goal, after all. She wanted nothing more but to forget she had ever lived in another world. Neither had she ever felt anything comparable to a sense of duty, let alone honor.

Izumi's rider, Yuliana Da Via Brannan, the former crown princess of the Kingdom of Langoria, listened to their conversation—or rather, was unable to avoid hearing it—with growing anxiety. As their horse approached the mighty gate, the princess failed to keep her hands holding the reins from visibly trembling.

“How did it come to this?” she lamented aloud. “All I wanted was to meet with his majesty, to ask him to keep from starting a war with my people...Only to learn that my closest friends are plotting his murder! Why did this have to happen? My luck is the worst. The worst, the worst, the worst...My Lord, please grant me strength, grant me the courage to endure this terrible, hideous trial that has been forced on me out of nowhere...”

“Relax, Christmas!” Izumi hugged the princess tighter. Which failed to calm the girl in the least. “It’s going to be all right!”

“W-what did you just call me?” Yuliana asked.

“It just occurred to me, ‘yule’ means Christmas in some language—I forget which. It’s kind of cool, isn’t it? Naming a person after a big holiday. I'm so clever.”

“I think the point of a pet name is lost when it's longer than my actual name and doesn't resemble it in the least...”

“Don't be so tense. You need to learn to go with the flow. That's the most important thing about fencing too. Relax. Just breathe. Want me to give you a massage? Full body. To-ni-ght~!”

“I will respectfully decline that...Not that either of us is going to live that long.”

“Wanna make it a bet then?” Izumi suggested. “Yeah, let's gamble! If we’re all still alive tonight, then you'll let me massage you. Your boobs, I mean.”

“Was that specification really necessary? It wouldn't help me relax at all! What's wrong with you, anyway? Your act is even worse than usual!”

“Well...” Izumi mumbled, looking at the distant palace’s dark facade. “I guess I'm a bit nervous too.”

As the group reached the root of the massive monument of stone, a squad of knights in sparkling armors emerged to receive them. Unlike Miragrave’s elite company in their deep purple robes and black armors, these men's capes were blood-red, their mirror-clear plate armors decorated with golden engravings. They were men of the Legion of Selenoreion, the Imperial Guard, the last line of defense between his majesty, the Emperor, and his enemies.

Of course, no foreign military had been able to challenge the Guard for thousands of years. Their role was largely ceremonial, with any actual fighting left to the Stohenkartes, the Stormcrows, his majesty’s special task force. Still, regardless of the difference between their roles and combat strength, the Imperial Guard held unquestionable authority over the crows.

“Halt!” The man leading the shiny knights called out to the travelers. He had his head bare, silvery hair cut short, signs of old age apparent on his dry, narrow face. Although his build was still fairly robust and his steps light, even under all the layers of steel.

As ordered, the riders stopped and dismounted, facing the approaching soldiers.

“General Loth,” Miragrave greeted the officer with only a quick look. Either she no longer cared enough to respond formally, or she knew the man well enough to skip the theatrics, in spite of the wide gap in rank.

The General stopped a few feet away and stared at the red-curled woman for a moment, struggling to find the words.

Finally, he found some and hurried to present them,

“What happened?”

“Confidential,” Miragrave answered. “For his majesty's ears only.”

“Marafel,” the man called Loth raised his voice a notch. “His majesty doesn't want to see you. He ordered you under house arrest. You’ve been dismissed from service, stripped of rank, all of that before daybreak. Let me ask you again: what happened? For the love of Divines, explain yourself!”

“I suppose I saved effort by not writing the report beforehand,” she said.

“I can't believe you,” the General spread his arms in disbelief over her senseless behavior. “What are you playing at? What could possibly be worth making your case even worse than it already is? You set out with a hundred men, a hundred of his majesty’s finest, and, what, eight come back? You were supposed to investigate the wreck of the Ikanos and determine what sank it! How did it turn out like this? Where's Rubeus? Yornwhal? Leterrié? Grimsay?”

“I'm right here, sir,” Master Sergeant Grimsay said and raised his visor to show his unshaven face.

The General rolled his eyes.

“I spoke on your behalf,” he pointed at Miragrave. “The board opposed, remember? I risked a lot to change his majesty's mind, to assure him it could be important. I've had your back ever since you were still only that promising rookie at the Academy. I've invested in you, gods damn it! I believe you owe me answers. Where exactly did I send those men and what happened to them? What happened to you? Speak!”

Miragrave gave the man a tired look and answered,

“What does it matter, Olliver? The truth is the one thing those people aren’t interested to hear, whether it comes from me, or you. I'm under house arrest now, yes? Can I at least walk home with my own two feet? Hands free or bound?”

“Under constant surveillance,” General Loth slowly articulated, twisting his face in displeasure.

“I'll be on my way then,” Miragrave turned to leave, with two knights from the Imperial Guard coming up to escort her. However, after a few steps, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder. “My last request to you, Olliver. Have word sent to the prince of Luctretz: a daemon roams his land. Let him warn his people. Give me your word that they will be warned.”

“A daemon?” the General blankly repeated. “Are you being serious now?”

“Pray tell, does it seem to you like I’m jesting?”

“Yes,” the man replied after a pause, his expression turning even more sullen. “I'm looking at a woman whose career has just become the biggest joke in all Empire. Off you go.”

The General nodded for the escort to take the Colonel.

“Yuliana.” Miragrave gave the princess a regretful look.

“Master...” And Yuliana looked back at her, deep worry clouding her beautiful face.

The Colonel had been the princess's mentor for only a few weeks in the distant past, only for play, but there was no one in the world Yuliana had admired more. Their long journey together hadn't changed that, on the contrary. But the emotions between the two were too heavy and complex to be easily put into words now. Yuliana wanted to somehow encourage her friend, but how, when she saw no hope for herself either? Anything she might have said would have only rang hollow and insincere.

Unable to find a way to express her goodbyes any easier, Miragrave simply looked down, then nodded to her remaining knights, and walked away, toward a set of stone stairs to the east, away from the square and the indomitable gate.

“Sergeant, have your...unit report back to the garrison,” General Loth absentmindedly instructed the surviving knights of Miragrave’s company, before turning to the two women left behind. As if the older one didn't even exist, apparently dismissing her as a mere servant, the man looked at the princess, slightly bowing his head in the bare minimum expression of respect,

“Your highness. His majesty is expecting you.”

2

A city within a city, Selenoreion, like many strongholds of similar age, stood on a hill simple to siege, impossible to conquer. Simple in the distant past, anyway. In the present, the invading army’s path to the inmost district would have had them squeeze through the preceding maze of stone, no doubt depleting the strength required to overtake the walls of Bhastifal’s heart. And even if those walls were somehow breached, the battle would not even be half won by that. Beyond, one would struggle to find the natural hill under all the towers, palaces, temples, courts, fences, and gates.

Selenoreion—‘a city of spires’ it was called, for there stood hundreds of towers, needle-like lances of stone, and obelisks of shorter stature everywhere around the district.

Tratovians didn't simply like to set up tall buildings for the pleasure of it; most of them were of a religious nature. They were parts of shrines and temples dedicated to the glory of the many Divine spirits of myth, to the mighty Lords who embodied the powers of the departed Gods. Power was what the Tratovians worshiped, first and foremost, and in the endless pursuit of it, each tower aspired to reach higher than the rest.

At the heart of the district, at the summit of the hill, reaching even higher than all those surrounding minarets, was a massive complex of buildings closely adjoined, expanded, appended, and elevated untold times over the centuries.

The Imperial Palace.

Izumi thought the general appearance of it was an odd mixture of the Gothic Notre Dame of Paris and the Byzantine Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. There was a dome-like cover over a larger central building, with straightforward wings spreading sideways and down to produce the shape of a conventional cruciform. The green-plated roofs of the palace wings were sharply angled, surrounded by numerous buttresses and appending structures. Further down were luxurious terraces stacked on top of one another, breath-taking skywalks connecting the lofty levels, and starkly defined, thorny reliefs and statues to decorate them.

Approaching the palace, the travelers followed the road from the Ptolois’s gate, which did not take a direct path, but circled uphill counter-clockwise, navigating through the densely constructed district.

Compared to the rest of the city, the streets of lower Selenoreion were quiet, left perpetually in the shadow of the mighty hill and the towers.

There was a mysterious, timeless, almost stagnant air hanging in those narrow alleyways, Izumi thought. Perhaps the impression was only inspired by the numerous serene buildings and little altars along the path, but there was also a vaguely unnatural quality to it. She looked at the temples they passed by, some great enough to be called churches or cathedrals, while others no larger than the streetside shrines one might see in Japan, with only a small table for candles and offerings.

The spicy, smoky scent of incense was clear in the windless afternoon.

Following the knights, the princess and her lone champion eventually arrived at another gate. Quite a bit smaller than Ptolois’s, but also more beautiful, with large brass doors engraved with images of air and sea.

The gate was already open. They were being expected, after all.

Beyond the gate started stairs.

Izumi didn’t think she had ever seen so many stairs before. Not as big, wide, and long. They were of pure white stone, and had endured the passage of countless feet without a mark. Anyone going to the palace would think twice whether it was important enough to challenge that stairway, but the two had no choice.

“How much do you know about this emperor guy?” Izumi discreetly asked Yuliana, as they started their ascent.

“The current Emperor goes by the regnal name Mayeshwal III,” the princess answered. “I met his father, Istafalan VI, when I was still little, but the old Emperor passed away four years ago, if I remember correctly. His seventh son acceded the throne.”

“Seventh?” Izumi raised her brows. “Busy guy.”

“The late Emperor had twenty-eight children. Eleven wives. Officially, of course. No one could keep track of the concubines or their children. But he was not a bad man. He was a charismatic and wise leader, gentle to his friends, reliable to his allies, fearsome only to his enemies. His rule brought the Empire an age of peace and stability. Or so we remember him in Langoria. I've no idea about the son, however. Rumors say a fierce power struggle followed the death of his father, where a lot of people lost their lives overnight. To have survived through all that to seize the Throne, Mayeshwal III must be extremely cunning. Be careful.”

“I will,” Izumi nodded. “Do you think he’s married?”

“What? Why are you asking about that?”

“No, just in case.”

“By what I've heard, he remains unmarried. I think.”

“Maybe he's your age?”

“No way!”

“A late bloomer, then?”

“The Emperor has made it his mission to unite mankind,” Yuliana dryly explained, “and make the other races see us as their equals. I doubt he has the time to think about weddings.”

“Yeah,” Izumi nodded. “Would be pretty bad if you got engaged for the third time.”

“Me!? Why me!?”

“Well,” Izumi looked up ahead, “not like he'll live long enough for it.”

“...Is there no other way?” Yuliana’s expression darkened as she asked. “Can't we at least try to discuss things with him like civilized people first?”

“You want to get engaged again?”

“Forget the engagements!”

“Too late for second thoughts now,” Izumi said. “I've never even met the guy and he’s managed to piss me off twice. I don't get upset easily, but when I do, it's mayhem. I'm not about to wait for the third time. I know how these stories go. Some problems are better nipped off straight at the bud. Unless I cut him down now, I’ll be sure to regret it.”

“Reconsider,” Yuliana appealed. “Life isn’t some play following a script you think you know! Luck has been on your side this far, but it won't be as easy as you imagine.”

“We'll just have to see about that.”

“I don’t want to bring this up,” the princess added with a regretful expression, “but would Riswelze want you to risk yourself in her memory?”

“Um, yeah?” Izumi immediately replied with a blank look.

“Ah, damn it, she probably would...”

Izumi lost count of the stairs somewhere after four hundred, and they were not even halfway to the palace gate yet. Yes, atop the arduous climb awaited yet another gate. Those turquoise, gold-engraved gates were certainly work of art that made the effort seem worthwhile.

Two men in the Imperial Guards’ armors stood on both sides of the entrance, ceremonial halberds in hand. As intimidating as those guardians looked on the outside, it was clear that their heavy gear severely impeded movement. Their role was largely only for show, anyway—or perhaps a “psychological deterrent” would've better described it? No open bloodshed demanding the interference of guards had occurred in the palace for hundreds of years. Discreet poisonings and daggers in the back aside. Nothing an average guard could do about political in-fighting.

As the visitors approached, the gates opened up by some hidden mechanism, and a courtier stepped out to receive them. He was a bony older man with nearly white hair, dressed in a simple black, silver-laced doublet, and tiny round glasses on his nose.

“Your highness,” he greeted Yuliana with a deep, formal bow, before turning to the knights. “Thank you, General, your escort may now return to their posts.”

General Loth gave Izumi a glance.

More precisely, he looked at the large sword the woman carried on her back, and made a face like he wanted to protest the dismissal of the armed escort. But Olliver Loth hadn't become a General only because he had been officer material from birth; he also knew not to voice opinions at the Court when none were asked. He sourly turned and gestured for the other knights to follow, and so they left hiking back down the stairs.

“This way, if you will,” the courtier instructed Yuliana and Izumi while the two were giving pitying looks to the soldiers' distancing backs.

They followed the servant in, coming to a tall, shady entrance hall. Its marble floor, stone walls, and arcing ceiling were all covered with colorful, flowery imagery and geometrical shapes, with colors of gold, red, silver, and green across.

From there, they passed through another set of gates, already open, this time made of ancient wood an arm thick, and entered a long, predominantly sky blue hall. It resembled the interior of a church, with walkways higher up on the sides. There were, of course, no benches, altars, or images of crucified men to be seen. Even this magnificent hall, illuminated by flashy chandeliers, was only something to pass through on the way further in.

Yet another gate followed, this time made of bronze, skillfully engraved full of complex pictographs illustrating historical events, or perhaps ancient legends.

And then, another large room.

Wider but slightly shorter than the previous hall, it was something of a hub, with doors into every direction, as well as staircases taking up to the second floor, making various other destinations accessible from there.

Izumi’s attention was drawn to the far back.

There stood one more massive doorway at the end of a brief flight of steps that differed from the others. The double-doors were of black stone, with silvery handles, but otherwise bare, with no engravings or decorations. A pair of guards stood in attention on both sides of that ominous entrance, tall candle stands near them for lighting.

Upon entering this hall, the courtier stopped the visitors.

“We shall go upstairs,” he turned to explain in a hushed voice, “where you shall wash away the dust and sweat from your travels and change into clothing...erm, better fit with for royal reception. Afterwards, I shall take you to see his majesty. He is looking forward to meeting your highness, so we must not linger any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

They obediently followed the servant up the stairs.

“So, the big chief’s through the boss gate over there?” Izumi asked him as they reached the second floor, nodding towards the black doorway.

“...Uh, that’s right,” the man answered with a pause, slightly confused by her choice of words. “There is the Throne Room, yes.”

“Thanks, Alfred, I’ll take it from here,” the woman said, stepped up next to the courtier and smacked him in the back of the head, at the base of the neck. The man fell limp at once. Izumi grabbed him by the collar as he collapsed and dragged him behind a flower pot in the corner a short distance away, where he wouldn’t be immediately discovered.

“What are you doing...?” Yuliana asked in a hollow tone. She was certain nothing could faze her anymore.

“As much as I’d like a bath and a change of clothes, they're going to want my sword before that, and raise an alarm when I say no,” Izumi explained. “Palpatine is right behind the corner, so let's not keep him waiting any longer.”

“We're dead...We're so dead...” the princess listlessly bemoaned.

“Come on, Christmas. I need your help just a little more.”

Izumi hurried back down the stairs, pulling Yuliana along by hand, and then casually approached the black gate across the room.

“Greetings and meetings!” she called out to the pair of guards, poorly imitating a servant. “The princess is here to see his majesty, I believe she’s being expected.”

“Where's the courtier?” The other guard asked. “No one sees his majesty without an escort.”

“Something came up and he told us to go ahead. So do excuse us.”

Izumi kept walking straight past the knights and laid her hand on the black door.

“Hey! Your weapon!” the second knight clutched his halberd and stepped forward.

“What weapon?” Izumi turned back and asked with a surprised face.

“Your sword! No one goes in armed! Hand it over!”

“Eeh? What sword? I don't know what you're talking about.”

“The sword you have there, on your back! Don’t play fool with me!”

“Oh, I see. You're talking about my sword? Well, excuse me, honey, please go on in while I clear up the matter with these gentlemen.”

Izumi pushed Yuliana on. Closing her eyes in a silent, resigned prayer, the princess stepped past Izumi and started to push open the doors to the lion's den.

“Why do you want my sword, anyway?” Izumi asked the guards. “You have plenty fine weapons yourselves, don't you?”

“Look here,” the guard to her left leaned on his halberd and pointed at the woman to emphasize his words. “I don’t know who you think you are, or what is your problem, madam, but you are not going anywhere until I—”

He didn't reach further with his lecture.

Izumi kicked the bottom of the polearm aside. The knight lost his balance and staggered. She immediately grabbed the halberd around his grip and spun it around like a rotor. His wrist violently twisted, the guard was forced to let go of the weapon with a grunt. Continuing the rotating motion, Izumi swept the legs from under him, dropping the man on his back onto the floor. In his heavy armor, the guard was like an overturned turtle and struggled to get up.

“Hey!”

The other knight reached out to seize the woman. Too late.

“See ya!”

Yuliana had opened the door by enough. Before the guards could recover from their surprise, Izumi slipped through the crack into the Throne Room, pushed the doors back shut again with her rear, and stuck the stolen halberd through the handles. The path was sealed, for the time being.

As difficult as the feat had looked from the outside, they had made it into the Throne Room.

For a throne room, it was unexpectedly simple, a space about the size of a tennis court. The floor was coated with square tiles of polished, black stone, clear enough for one to see her likeness on them. Across the room went a path made out of contrasting red stone, outlined with plates of gold and silver. Surrounding the path were marble pillars, holding up the ceiling where colorless, celestial imagery was painted.

The path of red ended at the root of the throne itself.

The Emperor's regal seat was of jet black, spotless onyx, atop a set of stairs to ensure that the person seated was higher than anyone else in the room. It didn’t look particularly ergonomic or warm, but the fleece of some unknown animal of spotted fur had been cast on it for added comfort. On both sides of the throne burned pedestals of clear, magical flame, illuminating the room, or at least the part of it that mattered.

The room wasn't empty, but neither was it too crowded.

Clearly enough, the guests hadn't been expected to appear just yet, which was partly what Izumi had been counting on. Had the room been filled with armed bodyguards, not even her confidence could've prevailed.

Who was there then?

On a quick look, Izumi counted four people.

Two men stood near the midway to the Throne.

They weren't regular soldiers, judging by their eccentric looks and highly personalized attires.

The closer one was a burly man of exceptional stature, resembling a figure straight from ancient Greek mythology. He wore a light metal vest that left the arms and shoulders bare, and black, knee-length shorts, light sandals on his feet. His blond, slightly curly hair was cut short, his youthful face shaved clean. Before his graceful looks, Izumi's attention was drawn to the object he was leaning on—an enormous shield. The shield was round as a manhole lid, slightly outward bulging, and shone like silver. What separated it from an average shield was its ridiculous size. It reached up to his neck as he leaned on it, making it nearly six feet across. How could such a thing even be used in combat?

Then, the next person.

A man slightly older than the first and not quite as imposing, he gave off a somewhat more intelligent yet also more sinister impression. His hair was black, tied back, and his hawkish gaze met the visitors with distinct hostility. As if to emphasize the mean look, the man held in his grip a simple, black spear. Dressed in a dark leather armor that restricted the movements as little as possible, black trousers, and riding boots, it was clear that like his companion, he was no idle noble but a soldier trained to take lives.

But Izumi wasn’t interested in either of them.

Neither of them could be the Emperor, and so they didn’t matter.

Unnecessary. Irrelevant.

Next.

Near the throne, on a stair a few steps below its level, stood a tall woman in a black dress. Her hair as well was pitch black, braided and tied up behind in a spiral bun, clearly revealing her pointed, elongated ears. The woman was unarmed, empty-handed. A magic-user, most likely, if not a concubine.

And the last one.

The one Izumi was looking for, by natural process of elimination.

As if it weren’t already clear otherwise, by his position.

Seated on the throne of black stone was a man seemingly in his early fifties. His black hair, slightly gray on the temples, was swept back and kept out of the eyes by a dark silver headband, fully showing the creased forehead, as well as the pair of deep, dark, calculating eyes, which now examined the visitors. His strong-jawed, distinctly masculine face didn't look particularly friendly or compassionate, as expected. He wore a simple black cassock, a gold medallion around his neck, and a ring with a large, blood-red stone on the left hand middle finger. It appeared the Emperor didn't care much about flashy looks, but was a man of a more pragmatic character.

“Yes?” His deep, resonant voice carried clear across the spacious room. “Is there a reason you storm into my hall like thieves at night?”

Yuliana, a righteous soul throughout, froze embarrassed at being so questioned.

“I'm terribly sorry, your majesty, but...”

——“Well, hello there, buddy!” Izumi interrupted her, as she strode past the princess. “I’ve come to kill you!”

To emphasize her blunt threat, she drew the Amygla. With a sharp, metallic zing, the ancient sword slid off of the magnetite plate and flashed brightly in the light of the enchanted flames.

“And who are you?” The Emperor asked, not looking particularly threatened.

“The name's Itaka Izumi, a hero summoned from another world,” Izumi answered. “Oh, I didn't get hit by a truck and reincarnate with lucky stats, if that's what you're thinking. I worked hard for this body!”

“Summoned...?” The Emperor’s frown deepened.

Meanwhile, the burly man with the large shield moved to block Izumi's path.

“Madam, please put down the sword,” he said in a conciliatory—or just condescending—tone. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“And I will definitely hurt anyone who gets in my way, so be a good boy and sit!”

Izumi picked up the pace and jogged straight at the man, lifting her weapon above her head, as if to stab. Seeing that, the guard raised his shield with both hands to defend. Reaching close enough, Izumi suddenly dropped her weapon to point at the floor instead. Leaning heavily sideways, she leaped over the sword hand, pulling the blade along in a rotating motion, and cut down with her full weight behind the swing.

She bashed straight at the corner of the raised shield.

Normally, you wouldn’t do such a thing.

As impossibly sturdy as it looked, the shield was probably wood for the most part, with only a metal coating—naturally, it would've been too heavy for any human to lift otherwise. This detail didn't make it any less of an impossible obstacle to any conventional weapon, however, as the metal used in the coating was the ever-precious orichalcum. The same metal was also used in Yuliana's armor, as it was next to impervious to attacks by light swords, arrows, even most battleaxes.

Any sword would be bent if not broken upon contact, rendered useless.

But Izumi knew what she was doing.

In fact, she had counted on this very reaction, baited it.

Because the weapon in her hands wasn't normal, by any means.

“Ha!”

Sporting hardness and durability surpassing any known metal in the world of Ortho, along with the sharpness of a fine razor, the Amygla cleaved straight through the shield, splitting it clean in two, right in the middle. The tension in his arms abruptly released, the warrior lost his balance and fell on his back onto the floor.

Before he could get back up again, Izumi dashed past him.

She ran at full speed now, straight for the throne.

The second guardian recovered from his surprise and acted. He had clearly assumed his companion would get the job done without aid, and so was left late with his reaction, allowing Izumi to pass him by.

Nevertheless, unalarmed, the man calmly raised the tip of his black spear on his brow, took aim, and hurled the weapon at the woman, as if merely hunting a deer. He clearly lacked his colleague’s gentlemanly qualities, seeing no issue in outright killing the intruder.

The heavy-looking polearm darted through the air with uncanny lightness for its size, aimed precisely at the assassin's heart, through the exposed, unprotected back.

But Izumi was paying attention.

Expecting the attack, she glanced briefly back to confirm the trajectory, flipped the greatsword over her shoulder, and threw a well-timed pirouette mid-run.

The spear hit its mark—and was repelled. Rebounding from the Amygla’s blade at an angle, it hit a pillar on the other side of the passage, broke through it, and remained stuck wobbling in the marble.

The fire of murderous excitement flared brighter within Izumi, her heart beating now almost unbearably heavily.

Nothing.

Compared to the might of a daemon, the Emperor's guards were nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Only one more obstacle before the main event.

The woman in black.

No, there was no need to care about her. By her looks, the woman was obviously a magician. A witch as typical as one could get. But whatever absurd tricks she could conjure with her mysterious arts, there was no way she could dispose of Izumi quickly enough to keep her sword from cleaving through the man on the throne.

No, did she even intend to do anything? Even now, with all the guards defeated, the unknown woman simply stood there, a faint smile on her lips, not even looking at Izumi, not disturbed in the least by anything that happened around her, as if it had indeed nothing to do with her.

Instead—the Emperor stood up.

“You mean to kill me?” he asked. “Why? State your reasons, assassin. Don’t I deserve to know why I must die?”

“Your knights killed my friend,” Izumi replied, running up the stairs. “Eye for an eye, said Hammurabi!”

“Soldiers of mine have murdered a civilian, is that correct?”

“That’s right!” Izumi exclaimed, raising her sword. Only a few steps more. “She sacrificed herself to save my life! For such a stupid reason—!”

“Then the villains must face the law. Name their commanding officer.”

“Huh?”

Izumi stopped her swing, half an inch from the man's bare neck.

Suddenly, everything started to look real strange to her.

Strange. Strange.

Too strange.

Why didn't this person even flinch before death?

Why did he carry on, as if they were in the middle of a simple argument, instead of an attempt on his life? Had he shrieked at his guards to kill her, begged to be saved, tried to hide behind his companions and flee, or otherwise fought back with the desperation of a cornered animal, he would’ve been dead already.

But—it really was too odd.

No matter how Izumi looked at him, there was no trace of fear, malice, anger, or desperation to be seen in the Emperor's steady gaze, his deep blue eyes. No arrogance, no haughtiness, no spite, nor contempt. Only unbounded earnestness, and strength of will.

Indeed, not like someone who had everything in the world—he looked like someone who had nothing at all left to lose.

“...You believe me?” Izumi asked with a confused frown.

“Was it a lie then, what you said?” the Emperor asked in return.

“Well, no, but...”

“Yes, you do not look like one to risk your life for a lie, or make up far-fetched excuses for your actions.”

“But...What do you care? I mean, won’t you say the killers were right just by the virtue of being your servants? That you or yours can’t ever do wrong? Even though you’re an Emperor and I’m a nobody?”

“I am a ruler of millions, yes,” the Emperor said. “Surely you do not expect me to know what each and every one of my subjects does at any given moment, and be able to interfere even where there is no one to see? Tell me, do I seem like such a God in your eyes?”

“Um...I suppose that would be unreasonable,” Izumi agreed.

“Indeed, I am far from almighty or all-present. But that doesn’t mean I will simply say, ‘nothing I can do about it’, and hide behind my rank, using it to justify crimes done in my name. That is one thing I must not do. After all, our society is built on certain laws, without which it wouldn’t be able to function. And my rule is only as strong as the laws I base my governance on. Therefore, I depend on others to inform me of such transgressions, so that proper measures can be taken to correct them.”

“Ehh...right?”

“If it is as you say, then we are already too late to save your friend. But what I can do is express my condolences for your loss, and act to prevent such tragedies from occurring in the future, yes? That much is within my power. You could say it is my duty, even. Yet, if you strike me down now, I will be unable to carry out this duty and nothing at all will change in the world. The one to take the throne after me is only liable to repeat the same mistakes, perhaps commit new ones, without learning anything of value from my example. Is that the outcome you seek to our dispute?”

“...Eh, not exactly.”

“As I surmised. Then, onto business. You came with Colonel Marafel's expedition, no? I put Rubeus Attiker in charge of that, therefore the responsibility lies with him. I will have the man hung to death tomorrow morning. Will that be satisfactory?”

“He's already dead, though,” Izumi noted.

“Then, Marafel shall take his place at the gallows.”

“But, it wasn't her fault, technically...”

“Fault and responsibility are two different matters and not necessarily always linked. I was not at fault, yet you hold me responsible, see? Otherwise, you are not making much sense. Then, if we free myself and the commanding officers from blame, all we have left is dealing with the criminals themselves. Yes, it must be direct vengeance that you wish to see? I understand. Then, I will have the knights involved executed at once. Of the remaining, every tenth shall be hanged, for the deterioration of morale which allowed this to transpire.”

“But, there's not even ten of them left alive at this point.”

“Is that right?” The Emperor powerlessly spread his arms. “Then what do you want me to do, exactly? Surely you do not expect me to dig the men from their graves and bring them back to life, only so that they can be executed once more?”

“…Not really, no,” Izumi had to admit again.

“Rather, wouldn't you say that justice has already been served?”

“In a way, yes, it has, but that wasn't the problem...I was simplifying the story a bit.”

“Then, why do you want to kill me? What is the problem? Do get to the point. We don’t have the whole day here!”

“I suppose I was only trying to break the pattern, mostly…?” the woman pondered. “How should I say, it was supposed to be a subversion of tropes? Something along those lines?”

“You are not making any sense, if I may say so. So in the end, is there any rational reason for you to cut me down now or not? Because if there aren’t, I would appreciate it if you withdrew your weapon.”

“...Er, my bad,” Izumi apologized, lowering the sword. “It seems I’ve made a bit of a mistake.”

“It happens,” the Emperor said. “Humans make mistakes. Yes, even I make mistakes. And then we repent and correct one another. It is only this way that our society may go on existing and advance. Problems such as these won’t go away simply by killing them. A criminal is a product of the society he lives in, and not some spawn of evil. What we should be doing is tackling the root causes of criminality instead of chopping necks at every available opportunity. Is that not the case?”

“Well, you’re not wrong about that.”

“I am glad that we have found an understanding. But this and that are separate matters. Your assault against my person is still breaking the law, and I must hold you directly accountable for that. I want you to surrender yourself to the guards and go wait for your rightful trial and sentence. Would you do that for me?”

Izumi considered her options for a moment, before shrugging.

“Okay. I suppose I will.”

“Excellent,” the Emperor said and nodded approvingly.

Izumi turned around, walked down the stairs, and headed back the way she had come.

“A-are you all right?” Yuliana asked her as the woman passed by.

“Maybe he's not that evil, after all?” Izumi replied with a shrug. “Sorry about that. I'll be fine, so carry on.”

Izumi cut the halberd stuck on the door in two and presented herself to the astonished guards on the other side, who were busy working their way in. As a matter of fact, quite a crowd of them had gathered.

“You wanted my sword? Well, here it is,” Izumi dropped her weapon on the arms of the nearest of them, as they all stood stupefied by her appearance. “Shall we go?”

Left behind, no less dumbfounded herself, Yuliana slowly turned to face the Emperor, unsure of what to say or what kind of an expression to make. Everything looked like a bizarre dream to her. She saw the athletic warrior examine the halves of his broken shield, scratching his head. The other one was trying to pry his spear off of the marble pillar with great effort. And the Emperor sat back down on the Onyx Throne, as if nothing special had happened. Next to him, the woman in black hadn’t moved a muscle the whole time and remained quiet still.

“I...I'm sorry about that...” the princess said. “I...I tried to stop her, I think. But...”

“I understand the situation,” the Emperor told her. “And I can see that you are exhausted. Servants will escort you to the quarters reserved for you and see to your needs. We shall speak again another time.”

“Yes. Thank you...? Your majesty...”

And with that, the first audience with the Emperor of Tratovia came to its awkward conclusion.

3

Itaka Izumi's new home was quite far away from the magnificent palace, on the northern side of the city, outside Selenoreion, on the banks of the river Thuleios.

There, circled off by a tall, thick wall made of natural stone, was a prison. It was nothing short of a castle itself, with three wide, cylindrical towers in each corner of the wall.

Like checking in to a hotel, Izumi gave her name and other basic information at the entrance. Her earthly possessions were cataloged and stored, her clothes changed for a simple prisoner's tunic and trousers. Finding clothes that fit her physique was a challenge and her moth-eaten, ash-gray tunic ended up looking quite baggy and unfashionable on her. Not that Izumi particularly cared.

“What's the crime?” the warden in his office gave the woman a glance and sighed heavily as she was brought in. “Stole a loaf of bread? Or—migosh—strangled a kitten?”

“Attempted assassination of his majesty, the Emperor.”

The warden's jaw fell and he straightened himself on his chair.

“Well, I'll be...Where are we going to put you then?”

“Somewhere with a beach view would be nice,” Izumi requested.

Treated like a patient with a highly contagious disease, Izumi was taken to the lowest underground level, into a dungeon cell without a beach view. Or a view of any kind, for the cell had no windows. She was unceremoniously shoved in and the door locked up.

“Enjoy your stay,” the guards said as they departed. “It might be a while.”

And then, silence.

The only light source around was a singular candle on a rusted and bent iron holder sticking out from the hallway wall. A lump of melted wax, its flame was small and dim, soon to expire.

In a few minutes, Izumi's eyes adapted to the poor lighting and she was able to examine her new room closer. What she saw first was an old steel bucket in the corner, riddled with holes. Her toilet. Then, a mattress—or more like, a roughly knit sack with a bit of hay stuffed inside—on the floor in the other corner. There were dusty, smelly tufts of hay scattered on and around the sack too. Blackened chains with handcuffs hung from the wall, to assist in the prisoner's questioning, or to allow the examination of the cell without her hindrance.

That was all.

The floor was cold, being made of large blocks of bare, coarse stone. The walls were the same way. Feeling the walls with her fingers, Izumi discovered various little scribbles left by the previous residents, mostly straightforward lines to keep track of the passage of days or curt profanities to the authorities. The contents were quite universal.

Next, Izumi examined the iron bars holding her in.

They were just about wide enough apart that she could squeeze her face through, but nothing more. Even if her shoulders could have somehow fit through sideways, her chest and hips were clearly not going to follow. She was going to have to lose a lot of weight before escape that way would become possible. As medieval and poorly maintained as the place looked, the bars weren't particularly rusted or frail but embedded deep into the floor and ceiling. Izumi tested each and failed to shake them even a little.

The door had a rudimentary lock. Additionally, the lock was backed up by a large horizontal bar, which was held in place by another lock, on the wall by the cell, outside arm's reach. Even if Izumi could somehow fashion a simple lockpick and figure how to use it too, there was no way to open the door without more elaborate tools or outside help.

Concluding her investigation thus, Izumi yawned.

She thought about trying the rune of ignition on the lock, but was in no rush to follow through with the plan.

“Could be worse,” she said to herself. “I get a roof above my head, some peace and quiet, and don't even need to pay rent. If only I had a laptop with wi-fi, it'd be better than home.”

Izumi laid down on the hay mattress and thought about Riswelze.

How many prisons had the young assassin seen in her tragically brief and stormy life? How many had she escaped, swearing never to go back, yet breaking that promise soon again? Were she here now, how would she advise Izumi?

Who knew?

No one disturbed the silence.

“...I think I'm done with adventuring.”

There were no other prisoners along the same hallway. Not this deep. Forgetting about her earthly concerns, Izumi soon fell asleep, tired out by the long journey, and the many unusual sights along the way.

Without windows, it was difficult to tell for how long she had been sleeping, but when Izumi stirred again, she felt like it had been quite a while. Thanks to the cold air, she slept lightly and was awoken by a restless feeling.

The feeling of not being alone.

Izumi turned her head and glanced outside the iron bars.

In the faint light of the nearly burned out candle, she saw a dark shadow stand in the corridor.

“Hi——!?”

For a split second, Izumi's sleepy mind saw in the shadow the horror from two weeks back. The creature she had faced on the fields outside the town of Varnam by the Felorn woods.

With a gasp, she leaped up to her feet, throwing her back against the wall.

However, looking again, she saw that this horrid vision had only been a figment of her imagination. The visitor standing in the corridor was only human—a woman in a black dress.

Or no, that observation was slightly premature. The elongated, knife-like ears protruding from under the night-black strands of hair made it evident that she was not a conventional human.

There was no question of it.

It was the same elven lady Izumi had seen in the Throne Room.

Although that scene had gone by so quickly, Izumi hadn't forgotten about the woman’s inhuman beauty, which utterly lacked any diminishing signs of old age, yet also missed the childish, round softness of youth. That mysterious person was there now again, wordlessly observing Izumi in her cell. The visitor’s eyes showed a faint glow, like those of a wild beast. The darkness couldn’t have hindered her sight by much.

“Goodness,” Izumi relaxed her shoulders and sank back onto the floor. “Don't scare me like that...”

—“Why did you hold your blade?” the visitor suddenly asked her. The elf’s voice was calm and softly hoarse, resembling the purring of a cat, but also completely neutral, devoid of emotion.

“Huh?”

“Not only did you spare your target when he was at your mercy, you walked into confinement of your own will. I fail to comprehend why.”

“Well, what else should I have done?” Izumi asked back. “I expected to find somebody worse than Hitler, but he turned out to be a pretty reasonable guy, all in all. So I lost motivation. No matter what they say, I’m not killing people just for the heck of it, okay.”

“Most would not be so willing to admit their mistake,” the unknown woman said. “After coming so far, the true character of their enemy should matter little, when weighing the integrity of their beliefs in the scale. Then, why did you turn yourself in?”

“Whether I killed him or not, my choices after that were either to die fighting the guards or give up. And I don’t like to work too hard, so I took the easy way out. Simple as that. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing threatening me here in particular, so things worked out pretty well.”

“Does it not make you the least bit resentful? You spared the man's life out of respect, yet he has you trapped in this hideous hole, where you will eventually perish of famine and disease, surrounded by your own filth. Never to see daylight again.”

“I'm already an adult, so I have to take responsibility for my actions, right?” Izumi lightly replied. “I’m not delusional enough to insist I’m still Lawful Good after all the folks I killed along the way, so I won’t waste energy complaining about my just deserts either. And it's not that bad here, really.”

“Not...bad?” the elven woman glanced around the cramped corridor.

“I mean, when you're a NEET, everyone expects you to get your act together, go out there, and start working for the common good. But when you're a prisoner, you're only expected to be still and not cause any more trouble for anyone. Wouldn't you say that's the ideal form of life, really? I do miss a modern toilet, but life's about making compromises. It's not like I have a reputation of cleanliness to protect down here.”

The visitor fell silent.

She stared at Izumi with a blank look on her face, as if trying hard to understand what the woman was saying. Of course, there was no way she could, and soon altogether gave up on the attempt.

“There was something else I wished to ask of you,” she then said instead.

“Me? What could it be?”

“A month ago, in a town called Grelden, in the principality of Luctretz...An Imperial agent posing as a local lord lost his life in a nightly raid. Surviving witnesses reported that he was slain by a human female, a foreigner, wielding a large sword.”

“I...may have heard about the case, maybe,” Izumi said, forcing a smile. “What about it?”

“There was someone accompanying this agent on his mission,” the woman continued. “A cirelo, a man of my kind. A certain Joviél of Elevro. No trace of him was ever found on the site but the witnesses I mentioned claimed he was also slain by this unknown woman. I personally find this somewhat difficult to believe. You—would not happen to know more of his last moments?”

Izumi thought she felt a somewhat dangerous tension in the air. The elven woman's polite tone—there was an underlying edge to it. It was definitely personal, she thought. Her intuition told her so. She had to weigh her words carefully now, especially knowing she was guilty as charged.

“W-were you perhaps acquainted with the guy...?” Izumi innocently inquired. “Not anybody dear, was he?”

“He was my brother,” a quiet but clear answer came from the dark.

“Oh. I—I'm very sorry to hear that. It sure is a terrible world, isn't it?”

“What I want to know, I am sure you can already tell. My brother's murderer—I would not be looking at her right now, would I?”

The piercing gaze of the cirelo's eyes drilled into Izumi through the bars.

Right now, that obstacle felt altogether impotent.

Under the stare, Izumi felt there was no way for her to lie.

Not that lying had ever been her forte.

Therefore, to minimize the damage, the only option she saw was to be perfectly honest.

“Well, I didn't land the finishing blow but if you count the total damage, then I guess it was mostly my fault, yes.”

Maybe she was being too honest already.

During the following heavy silence, Izumi started to think that there might have been more sensitive ways to break the news to the grieving sister. But she was nervous and whenever she was nervous, her tongue got too loose, and what was done was done.

The light in the black-clad woman's gaze appeared to momentarily intensify. And then—she suddenly slapped her hands gleefully together, a smile spreading across her lips.

“Excellent!”

Following the oddly cheerful exclamation, the strange lady spread her hands wide apart. As if to follow her motions, the iron bars between her and Izumi were forcefully bent aside and squeezed against the corners of the cell in two heaps of twisted metal.

“Come out of there,” the sorceress told the prisoner in a more composed tone. “I have business to discuss with you.”

Chapter 2: The Court Wizard Has Radicalized

1

A step through a magically generated gateway of pitch black void took Itaka Izumi straight from the underground dungeon cell into a building of far more refined designs. She emerged in a hall at least thirty feet tall, a bit less wide, with majestic stone pillars upholding a ceiling where the likeness of an ancient afternoon sky was painted. On the left she saw a wide terrace with a generous view towards sunrise and the city, and opposite, on the right, stood a tall, sharply arcing doorway.

Through the doorway and deeper into the palace, Izumi followed the black-clad elven woman, feeling like walking in a fairy tale.

“My name is Caalan Litha Nidh vi Vaniphelia,” that woman introduced herself as she unhurriedly stepped on. “Among your kind, I go by the name Carmelia, as one of the seven Court Wizards of the Tratovian Empire.”

“Um, it’s nice to meet you, Lia,” Izumi said, absentmindedly gazing around like a tourist.

Carmelia’s feet abruptly stopped, as if she had ran into an invisible wall, and she shot a glance back over her thin shoulder.

“What...did you call me?”

“Well,” Izumi paused as well, wondering if she had unwittingly offended her host, “everyone has such complex names in this world, I thought I'd abbreviate a little. And since I can't call you 'car' or ‘me’, for obvious reasons, there was no other choice but to go with the last syllable. You don’t like it? I thought it’s cute.”

Izumi felt her reasoning was fairly clever. She emphasized the effect by doing her best innocent puppy dog face, that usually got her out of trouble. In hindsight, maybe the sorceress hated dogs?

“...Call me whatever you please,” Carmelia gave up and walked on.

Doors were opened before them by invisible hands as they went deeper inside. The silence as they carried on got a bit unnerving, especially as Izumi had no idea where they were headed. No other people could be seen, as if they had become the only two people left in the world. Izumi thought she should try to make up for her earlier show of poor etiquette by displaying her empathetic side.

“Is it really okay, what happened with your brother?” she asked. “No hard feelings? Aren't you at least a little bit resentful? I couldn’t well blame you, even if you were. It’s not like I killed the guy because I liked it, but he really was pure evil—I mean, let’s just say we had a lot of trouble agreeing with each others’ views. And I was kind of drunk when it happened—not that I think that’s a valid excuse, but...Er, never mind. ‘I’m sorry’, that’s what I was trying to say. I’m earnestly repenting. Had I known, I...”

On a second thought, she wasn't being sensitive at all.

Fortunately, Carmelia appeared to be exceptionally patient—or even if she wasn’t, she superbly hid it.

“My brother and I were not terribly close,” she said. “He was the youngest of us thirteen siblings, while I was the eldest. At heart, I considered him a disgrace. Coveting my power and fame, he embarked on the path of an arcanerian, even though his talent for the Art was meager. In all his life, he could barely master one aspect of the Aelementarium, while presenting like his bloodline alone made him superior to all. I found his childish boasting distasteful, among many other parts of his character, including his odd fascination with human males. But, as humiliating as his existence was, I suffered him, for we lived difficult times and there was not one man, woman, or child, who didn’t matter. Nevertheless, even though his passing is a loss to us and our endeavors, I fail to genuinely mourn it. Rather, for ridding me of this shame, perhaps I should be grateful, human.”

“Izumi,” Izumi said.

“Pardon me?”

“Oh, my name. Itaka Izumi, that’s me. I'm a bit touchy about the given name, but you can use that too, if you want to. You're pretty, so I’ll okay it!”

Ignoring her, Carmelia walked on.

“I have more questions for you,” she said. “I heard that the rumor about the Imperial soldiers' shipwreck was true. That a daemon crossed the sea to Noertia aboard their vessel. The survivors of the Felorn expedition reported that they encountered the beast outside the woods, and drove it off after a fight. I find this tale somewhat...unlikely. Considering the circumstances, I am inclined to believe they invented this account to excuse their unreasonable losses in the forest. You came to the city together with them, yes? Were you there to see what happened?”

“Yeah, I was there,” Izumi reluctantly answered. “And it happened, I guess.”

It wasn’t something she wanted to recall in detail.

However, her questioner wouldn’t let Izumi off that easily. The cirelo stopped again and aimed another tense sideways glance at the woman. That stare sure was unsettling.

“One of the witnesses claimed you were the one who defeated the creature,” she said.

Izumi forced herself to look back into the eyes under the clean-cut bangs. Those eyes—it was only now, under the better lighting, that Izumi saw they were deep, pure red, like a pair of flawless garnets.

“Not really,” she looked away and shrugged. “It was definitely my loss.”

“Yet, you live. Not many who have fought the Enemy may say the same.”

“Live?”

Izumi looked down at her open palms.

“I wonder about that,” she said. “I’ve thought about it every night since, and I think I’m starting to understand; it wasn’t a victory we had that day. We didn’t escape and it didn’t let us go. That’s not what this is about. That battle goes on, even now—this is all part of the ‘hunt’. For that thing, even this whole continent is just one big playground. No matter where we go, no matter how much time passes, so long as we both live, I’m going to have to face it again. And it’s only then that the real winner will be decided. Knowing this, knowing my own weakness, I don’t think I achieved anything worthwhile that day. Nothing to boast about, anyway.”

The sorceress remained silent, and Izumi went on,

“After you’ve seen the real face of a daemon, life can’t be called ‘life’ anymore...Mira-rin said that. I’m sure this is what she meant. Whatever I do with my life from now on, it’s all just a prelude for that day—the day, when I’ll have to fight a battle I can’t win. And even if I somehow pull through this once, there’s a whole land full of those monsters out there. This game’s totally broken, isn’t it? I mean, if it really were a game, I could just quit and try something else, but that’s not even an option, is it? This world’s pretty much done for, no matter how you look at it. Whatever we do or try, or how hard we work, we can lose all we love in just a flash, in some horrible way we can’t even imagine. So if that’s how it is, why even bother—”

——“Because we can!”

Carmelia suddenly interrupted her, a furious light appearing in her eyes. The sorceress’s yell was powerful enough to fill the whole hallway, stunning Izumi to silence.

Of all the things Izumi had said that night, this had to have been the most insensitive by far. For in front of her stood someone who had lost her entire civilization, a history and culture spanning tens of thousands of years, to said creatures. Was her people's centuries-long struggle to exact revenge only a big waste of time then? Would it have been better if they simply gave up and withered away, consumed by their grudge?

Who had the right to judge them, if anyone?

“S-sorry?” Izumi apologized.

“We need not weak, fleeting things like hope to fight evil,” Carmelia told her. “We fight, because it’s possible to us. Because our spirit of resistance is the one thing they cannot take from us, even if our blood runs dry before it. And whether with hope or without, we will succeed. There will be a way.”

“I-is that right…?”

“Life doesn’t exist for the sake of losing it,” the sorceress added, turning away. “What we’ve built is not only history. It is the proof that we existed. It is what brought us to this day. We won’t be erased from time so easily. One day, the daemon plague will be cleansed from this world, and we will take back what was ours, even if we have to rebuild it all again from nothing. And I'll have you help me with that, human.”

While Izumi remained on her toes, Carmelia continued ahead.

“Come. There is someone you have to meet.”

The two came to a room with an unexpected view. At a glance, it had looked only like another narrow hallway, but Izumi soon realized her mistake. The room was actually very wide, but divided by numerous rows of bookshelves, all tall as the walls.

From floor to ceiling, from front to back, extended countless ranks of books, large, heavy tomes, frail scrolls, yellowed stacks of papers, and leather-bound notes, new and old, worn out and pristine. There they were, in a dizzying quantity, encased in the imposing shelves, together with mobile ladders of various sizes to help the willing reader reach whatever works of the written word they desired.

Not all the books could fit in their appropriate places; haphazardly compiled piles dotted the marble flooring here and there along the walkways, with other misplaced documents and miscellaneous items among them.

It was definitely a place fit to be called a library.

Izumi’s ambitions as a reader had mostly been limited to juvenile light novels in the past, so she failed to fully appreciate the treasure trove of knowledge she now beheld. Nevertheless, she eyed the shelves with humble respect, as she quietly followed after Carmelia, along a wide crimson carpet across the room.

Right in the middle of the library hall was a long, rectangular table—also heavily loaded with books, notebooks, and parchments—and a number of empty chairs around it.

To the left from the table, by the nearest bookshelf, was also a cozy-looking sofa, red as the carpet.

On that sofa, a figure could be seen sleeping.

The sleeper was half buried under newspapers, with the apparent intent to keep the ceiling lamps from hindering his rest. Newspapers, indeed. Izumi was curious to observe that the Empire had invented rotary press.

Carmelia walked directly to the sofa, and gave it an unexpectedly energetic kick.

“Wake up,” she told the sleeper.

“Whoa! What!? Wait!”

Startled by the rough awakening, the unknown person struggled up from under the bundle of papers. From beyond the big, bold headline—which failed to mention Izumi's scandalous attempt on the Emperor’s life—soon emerged the face of a young man.

In his early twenties by the looks of him, the man was quite slim and roughly the same height as Izumi, who at five feet and six inches was exceptionally tall for a woman of her people. Still, that left the youth somewhat lightweight for an adult male. Carmelia was considerably taller than either of them.

The man was dressed in tidy black trousers, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up above the elbows, a black cotton vest over it, as well as shiny leather shoes on his feet. He was quite good-looking, even if a bit of a baby-face, Izumi thought. The man’s short black hair was neatly combed to one side, and a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles on his nose gave his appearance the much required touch of maturity and intellect.

Izumi was a bit surprised to note that instead of the inhabitant of a medieval fantasy land, the youth looked like someone you might see on Earth. As a matter of fact, in his formal clothes, he resembled a western reporter or some such office worker, much like the ones she had seen in famous movies from overseas.

“Well, I’ll be...” Seeing Izumi, the young man slowly stood up, fixing his glasses, looking no less surprised than she was, before a wide smile spread across his face. “So you're the one?”

“The one...?” Izumi blankly repeated.

Taking a step forward, the youth extended his hand to the woman,

“Benjamin Watts,” he introduced himself. “New York, 1930. Please call me Ben.”

2

So many things had happened in the meanwhile, Izumi had by this point completely forgotten the words of late wizard Yornwhal from two weeks back. Correctly guessing Izumi’s identity as a visitor from another planet, the old magician had then revealed there was another summoned human staying at the Imperial Court. As those words returned to her now, the reality of them before her eyes, Izumi couldn’t hide her astonishment.

“Eh?” she stared at the man and exclaimed. “Eeehh!? New York? You are...? So you're the other person who got summoned? I—my! This is a surprise! I'm Izumi, Itaka Izumi. From—”

“—No, don't say it!” The man called Benjamin quickly raised his finger to interrupt her. “Those features...Wait a second. Asian…? Chinese?”

“Japanese...” Izumi corrected him, her earlier tension instantly dissipating.

“Ah! The Land of the Rising Sun? Yes!” The young man exclaimed, waving his arms. “I can't believe this! This is amazing! Wow, I'm just...it’s incredible. First, I'm summoned into another world, to a whole different plane of existence, and now, for the first time since, I'm actually having a conversation with someone else from my home world. I never believed this day would come! I’m not alone in the universe anymore! Not that I was before, exactly, but—you get what I mean! Words simply fail to describe this feeling. Words, yes! We—we understand each other! Though we were born in different countries, we speak the language of this world like it's perfectly natural for us! How absurd is that!? What are the laws that govern these things? It’s phenomenal. It’s like...magic. It literally is magic, huh? Wow. Thank—God, I'm alive to experience this.”

He certainly wasn’t left at a loss of words over this extraordinary encounter.

“I guess it is pretty amazing, yes,” Izumi agreed, wondering if her initial reaction should've been more like his. “But, 1930...Doesn’t that mean you've been summoned from nearly a hundred years further in the past than me?”

“A hundred years? Are you for real?” Benjamin gasped, before snapping his fingers. “A-ha! But that confirms it! My theory!”

“Theory?”

The young man dashed to the nearby table and went rummaging through the papers and notes covering its surface.

“For how long have you been here, precisely?” he asked.

“...Around four weeks, I think?” Izumi tried to count, not very precisely.

The passage of time had been difficult to keep track of while on the road. There weren’t many clocks or calendars available either.

“Four weeks!” the man exclaimed. “That’s amazing! This is a terribly interesting point, don't you think!? We've been summoned from places separated by a whole century, yet there's only a couple of months' of difference in our appearances here. Can you see what this means?”

“What?” Izumi asked, feeling stupid. Following his rapid fire speech made her dizzy.

“I’ve been trying to infer the finer details behind the summoning magic that brings people to Ortho. What are its limitations, what can it do and what it can’t. I mean, it can to transport people clearly over who knows how great distances, but how does it do that, really? Is it one way only? Why the people of Earth? Does the spell target a specific point in space and time, or is it completely random? Things like that.”

The youth gestured with his hands, as if trying to will a descriptive image into existence,

“Basically, I see two possible explanations at this juncture. Either the summoning spell can pick up people from any age or place, past, present, or even future, conveniently ignoring time and distance altogether. OR, the more likely answer—the worlds themselves don’t align. The passage of time here on Ortho doesn’t follow the passage of time on Earth, perhaps because of the effects of gravity, or an imperceptible lag in the transfer, or—could be anything. Which means, you couldn’t simply build a rocket and fly back to Earth, provided we somehow found out where it was in space. Even if we could phone home and tell them, ‘please come pick us up, here are the coordinates’, the chances are, the home we come from may not even exist anymore. Hey, what do you think?”

“Um, I haven’t really thought about that...at all...” Izumi was forced to admit.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Benjamin suddenly apologized. “It must be quite the hard bite to swallow. The idea that going back might be unthinkable. I’ve had some time to come to terms with the idea, but just throwing it in your face like that, when we only just met...I got carried away. I’m sorry. It’s ultimately just a theory, all right. Don't let it get to you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Izumi said. “I don’t really mind.”

She had never wanted to go home to begin with, so she hadn’t wasted time speculating about it. Rather, the idea was a relief, if true. Her lukewarm response didn’t seem to bother the man, however.

“A hundred years!” Benjamin exclaimed, already moving on, searching through the mess on the table. “But if that's really the case, then you have to tell me absolutely everything that's happened in our world after I was brought here. Everything. How much has changed in a hundred years—I can't even imagine! Every little detail. A lifetime’s worth of knowledge from the future! I have to write this down, where’s my pen, pen, pen, pen—”

—“Ahem.”

Carmelia's diplomatic cough interrupted the one-sided conversation.

“Pardon me,” the sorceress said with a faint smile, “but there is a certain matter I must discuss with this woman, so I ask that you to leave it at quick greetings for now. Otherwise, the day will have passed before we get anywhere.”

“Ah,” Benjamin exhaled a disappointed sigh. “I suppose I have to hold back for now. But afterwards, Ms Izumi, do entertain me with your story for a bit. I insist.”

“Eh, okay, sure,” Izumi nodded, not entirely sure what she was agreeing to.

“Really, really happy to have met you!” the man waved after her. “Later! It’s a deal! Don’t forget!”

“This way, please,” Carmelia gestured to Izumi, who followed after the sorceress through the library, towards a doorway in the other end.

The two eventually arrived in a spacious room empty of all furnishings, books, tables, and such. There was a tranquil, noble air hanging in the air, quite different from the rest of the palace, as if the room had been sliced out of a different culture altogether. It seemed unusually luxurious for the quarters of a simple court magician. A reception hall, one might have called it, for a noble to meet equally high-profiled guests in private, although in its splendor it would have been comparable to a throne room in most kingdoms. A large, exquisitely carved chair was set up on an elevated spot by the right side wall, tall candle stands surrounding it.

Izumi had a hard time picturing old Yornwhal in such a chair. Regardless, as if it were the most natural place for her, the bare minimum of passable, Carmelia took the extravagant seat, leaving Izumi standing before it.

“No one else may overhear us now, so let us speak directly,” the cirelo told her.

“Um, okay,” Izumi nodded. Not like she had a choice.

“As said, I did not free you from captivity out of the kindness of my heart. Neither was it gratitude for the slaughter of my kin. For as wretched as he was, Joviél of Elevro was still of an infinitely higher origin than your human kings and princes. Your life and freedom would not be enough to reimburse a sin so heavy. Not the lives and freedom of all your people. Nevertheless, I have brought you here today because I saw a need for a person of your talents. Thus, hear out my modest request, a plea.”

“What is it?” Izumi asked.

In her usual solemn tone, as if requesting the acquisition of a dozen bear hides, the Court Wizard answered,

——“I want you to finish what you started and kill the Emperor.”

“Huh?” Izumi raised her brows. While not entirely unexpected, per se, she didn’t think she would hear such a request from one of his majesty’s closest confidants.

However, no misunderstanding had occurred.

“Slay Mayeshwal III,” Carmelia continued, “by whatever means possible, at whatever cost necessary. I shall assist you in this task as I am able and offer my own house as your shelter for the duration of this quest. Following the successful completion of it, I will see to it that you walk free, with whatever earthly reward you may ask for. What do you say, human? Will you do it?”

It was an absurd, immoral request, which by all means demanded more time to be thought through.

However, Izumi didn’t consider her answer for long.

“I already told you, didn't I?” she said with a troubled frown. “I looked the guy in the eye and he didn't seem that bad to me. I let him go once, and when I decide something, I try to stick to it too. No matter how I’m a woman, changing my mind every other day gets kinda nutty. So thanks for the offer, but I'm going to have to pass.”

“You were deceived,” Carmelia replied. “The Emperor is not the kind of a man you think he is. He is petty and prideful. Remorseless, ruthless, ingenious in his cruelty. He perceives himself to be the equal of the Old Gods, toying with his allies and enemies alike, and thinks nothing of betraying them on a whim. He has set uniting all the races as his purpose—with himself as the tyrant to rule over them all, his Empire reigning supreme. His ambitions cannot be allowed to manifest.”

“Isn't that the best way to beat the daemons?” Izumi asked. “Either you put up with his bad personality in order to get everybody together, or else you're stuck fighting each other. Which is the lesser evil then?”

“A valid point,” the elven woman remarked. “I also believed supporting his greed to be the most efficient course of action, once. But having grown to know the man better over the years, I have been forced to re-evaluate my stance. He is liable to cause more harm than he does good. Creating an alliance against the daemons was not the Emperor’s idea, no matter how he’s claimed authorship of it. This project has been long in the making. Too long for it to fail due to the shortcomings of his obsessive character. We will find another way. As we always have.”

“We?” Izumi repeated.

She waited for the sorceress to go on, and after a pause, she did.

“I am a member of a group that calls itself, Alantea Dalantiri, or 'Circle of Pale Ashes' in your tongue. For two hundred years, ever since the failed War of Tears to reclaim our homeland, we have been working in the shadows to unite the intelligent races for a second attempt. This time, leaving no card unplayed. Ushering peace by binding oaths of co-operation one way, eliminating unwanted obstacles elsewhere, we have crowned kings as well as overthrown them, started wars and prevented them, to steer the course of history in every land, towards this one goal. To defeat the daemons. In Noertia, we chose to support the Empire of Tratovia, because we deemed it to have the best possible prerequisites for joining the other human nations. But the Emperor has gone too far. We extended to him a hand on the eve of our collective doom, and he presumes to take advantage of our plight to lord over us. His arrogance is unforgivable. No matter what, we cirelo will never bow to him. Each day that man draws breath adds a strain on our fragile alliance. Time is running out. If this goes on, our plans over two long centuries in the making will be returned to the ashes whence they were born. The Emperor must be removed—and be replaced with a ruler the nonhuman races may endorse. Otherwise, there will be no unity. Only slow decay, and the inevitable daemon apocalypse.”

Izumi listened patiently to the end.

As convincing as the argument was, her answer remained skeptical.

“No offense, but I have no guarantee you’re telling me the truth, do I? What happened to your people seriously sucks, I admit, but it’s not any of my business either, is it? And I’m not the kind of a gal who will do just about anything for money, okay? So why should I agree?”

“If you will not help us, then I can only return you to where I found you.”

“I don't mind,” Izumi said and turned towards the doorway. “It's not like I asked to be let out in the first place.”

“And what of the princess?”

Izumi stopped.

“The Emperor will not let her go,” Carmelia said. “And there will be no peace with Langoria. All the pieces are already in position. Very soon, his majesty will declare an open war on her highness’s kingdom, burn the towns and villages, destroy all who oppose, enslave those who submit. He will humiliate her family before the child's eyes, then tear them apart, before burning her at the stake to crush the hearts of her people. And he will do so with a smile on his face. That is the manner of a man he is.”

Izumi recalled the face of the ruler she had so nearly cut down in the Throne Room. The cold, steady resolve in his eyes.

“...I don't believe you,” she said, but couldn't be quite sure anymore. “Either way, you're a Court Wizard, aren't you? And an elf to boot. Can't you make the guy disappear with a spell or two? What do you even need me for?”

“I cannot act on my own,” the cirelo woman quietly answered. “Firstly, because everyone would know it was me. I am not here simply to offer my services as a master of mysticism. I am also an emissary representing my kind among humans. My being appointed a Court Wizard was, above all, a symbolic and a political gesture. A token of the co-operation between our peoples. And it is also through this high-profile position that the Empire can better keep an eye on me. Were I to make an attempt on his majesty’s life, it would mean war. A war on two fronts, which we cirelo cannot afford. However, even though he’s aware of our precarious position, the Emperor does not trust me. To that man, I will always remain only an outsider and a nuisance. And should he ever feel threatened on my part, it would mean the end of my life. If it’s to save our cause...even I am expendable, and he knows this. It leaves me with no other choice, but to depend on the aid of an outsider. It has to be a subtle blow in the dark, by an unaffiliated hand. An operator no one knows, has never heard of, as if they had not even existed before. Such as a human summoned from another world...”

The sorceress concluded her speech in those heavy words.

Izumi stood still, quietly thinking for a moment.

Killing the Emperor—no matter how she looked at it, her talents were being grossly overestimated. True enough, she had planned to do so before and had very nearly succeeded too. But only because she’d had the element of surprise. As said, she had come out of nowhere and existed outside anyone’s expectations. It had worked in her favor in this random, spur-of-the-moment act.

But that advantage was now lost. Would she get so lucky the second time? No way, right?

Then again, the target did believe her to be locked up in a prison...No, it was still a little too absurd. What reason did she have to risk her life, anyway?

It would have been only naïve to trust the word of this person she knew nothing about and who clearly had her private stake in the matter. Carmelia had every reason to hate humans, and Izumi in particular. It was unlikely even a success would keep her from a terrible fate, betrayed and eliminated to tie up the loose ends. Even in the event that she made it out alive, Izumi would only find herself an outlaw pursued by the largest country on the continent, in addition to a shady organization of killers and schemers.

Only a complete idiot would agree to such a job, for any reward.

Therefore, after calmly and rationally assessing all the available options, Izumi made up her mind.

“Okay,” she nodded and faced Carmelia. “Try say, 'please help me, nyan~!' while holding your paws up like a cat, and I'll do it. Like this. Do your best to sound like a cute little kitty too!”

Izumi mimicked a beckoning cat with her hands.

“...Excuse me?” the sorceress blinked with a blank look.

“Now, if you get all upset on me, then I'll know your pride was more important to you than saving the world, and all this talk was just for show. After which I'll gladly return to my cell and go back to sleep. Well? How about it?”

Following a brief moment of silent contemplation, Caalan Litha Nidh vi Vaniphelia, age six thousand eight hundred and eighty-four, raised her pale hands, coiled her long fingers into paw-like fists, and said,

“Please help me. Nyan.”

Watching it happen, cursing her luck for not having her smartphone with her, Izumi felt her heart skip a beat. No, the intensity of the effect would have been better described as a minor cardiac arrest already. She thought she was going to faint on the spot. Death by pure bliss.

Blood rushed into her head as Izumi quickly recovered and answered,

“Got it. I'm on it. I'll do it. Please let me do it. Consider it done. An emperor here or there. Just to make sure, how many emperors are there in the world? Maybe I should kill them all, just in case. Yup, once you decide to do something, you had better do a thorough job, that's what my dumb dad would always tell me. So, where do I start? Just point the way! It's time for heads to start rolling! Hurry, hurry!”

“Where did this sudden zeal come from...?” Carmelia shook her head, suddenly feeling unusually exhausted.

3

It had been some time since princess Yuliana Da Via Brannan last awoke alone. This morning, she did. She found herself in a large room on the topmost floor of one of the sky-scraping towers surrounding the Imperial Palace. It was by any conceivable standards a room befitting a princess, far above the rooftops of the common citizens. The bed alone was as large as the tents that could fit a squad of soldiers on the field.

And yet, Yuliana felt unusually lonely. She would have gladly traded her spacious quarters for a corner in a rustic barn, if only it meant having someone with whom to greet the first light. Alas, no one was there with her, and so the princess wordlessly got dressed.

Gone were her regal orichalcum armor and the matching robe. In their place, she’d been given a lavender dress, beautifully embroidered, and precisely matching her youthful form. The dress was eye-catching enough to make her status known while remaining functional as clothing, veiling her figure, and not hindering her movements. But even if the attire was in good taste, it also brought back unpleasant memories.

Gifts of the Empire never came without a painful cost, dresses in particular.

No matter how she was treated a guest in name, the locked doorway alone showed the truth of the matter—that she was once again a prisoner to foreign powers.

As brave as she tried to be, Yuliana’s chest was heavy with concern.

Not only over her own situation, of course.

What was to become of her friends?

Izumi was no doubt in the deepest pit of the city by now, awaiting her trial. That is, if a trial was ever going to be held and she hadn’t already been executed off the record. Her crime, if any, would have justified the cruelest of verdicts. The thought left the princess restless and kept her awake late into night, until the accumulated fatigue from the days on the road finally stole her to uninterrupted slumber.

After waking up, Yuliana spent time restlessly pacing back and forth in her room, unable to bring herself to admire the breathtaking skyline outside the wide window of her chamber. No, her room was too high up already. Going too close to the opening on the wall made her turn immediately away with a nauseating fit of vertigo.

When not concerned over Izumi’s plight, Yuliana was reminded of that of her mentor.

Even if that uncannily crafty earthling could somehow take care of herself, Miragrave’s situation was hardly any better. How would the Emperor reward the Colonel’s failure, the decimation of the Imperial elite company for no tangible gain, culminating in the delivery of an assassin to the court?

In a way, this case was even more desperate than the previously mentioned. For whatever sentence would be given to her, fair or not, Miragrave would surely endure it without a word of complaint, no intention to escape it. Such was her character, that even if no one would openly condemn her, she would condemn herself, and carry out the punishment with her own two hands.

Even so, Yuliana wanted her to live.

It was hopeless to debate whether her two friends deserved mercy or not.

No justice was on their side.

Yet, Yuliana loved both and wanted them to live, that was all.

Those lives, including her own, were now on the Emperor’s palm. They could be saved through no earthly battle or a duel, but only through the change of his majesty’s heart.

The princess couldn’t afford to forget the key point of her quest to Bhastifal either, which included pleading for the safety of her own kingdom. She wanted not only to save the lives of those close to her, but also the lives of her people. Wanting all, while having nothing to give in return, she was clearly asking too much and she knew it.

Yet, she had to succeed somehow.

Nothing else but perfect success would do. Failure was simply not an option in any event.

By whatever means necessary—she had to convert the Emperor to her side!

Torn by painful impatience, Yuliana waited for servants to come interrupt her confinement and tell her what she wanted to hear the most: when the ruler of the City of Lords would agree to see her again.

Eventually, not soon enough for Yuliana, but sooner than could be reasonably expected, a pair of female handmaids unlocked the door and stepped in to wake her up and dress her. Finding the princess already both awake and clothed, they simply combed and braided her hair and applied light makeup.

In the process, Yuliana’s heart started to race faster and faster.

Why were they prettying her up, if not to meet someone important?

Her wild hopes were lit to open blaze when one of the maids announced,

“Your highness. You are to join his majesty for breakfast. Please follow.”

Yuliana was led down from the tower and through the maze-like battlements towering over the streets of Selenoreion. The heights remained dizzying. The princess could only sigh in relief when they finally arrived in a garden on a west side terrace where no treacherous falls loomed too close.

There were several gardens around the palace, but this one was perhaps the most intimate of them. In other words, the smallest. It was the one best suited for a quiet, private breakfast, while still providing a good deal of fresh air in the company of exotic, fragrant flora. The center of the vast terrace was paved with white marble, with a long, slim table of dark wood on it, shielded by a canopy of common hop branching around a framework of engraved ebony.

There were only two chairs, at both ends of the table, respectively.

His majesty was already there, admiring the morning and the pale blue sky, where isolated, fragmented clouds basked in the sun’s powerful rays.

As soon as a male servant announced the princess’s arrival, the Emperor quickly stood to receive her.

“Your highness, I am glad you could join me,” he told her in his deep voice. His attire was slightly less formal than last night, albeit no less black, with the collar of his shirt left casually unbuttoned. There was quite a speech Yuliana had thought to greet him with, but he already gestured her to go on before she could present a word. “Please, have a seat.”

Yuliana at one end of the table, the Emperor of Tratovia at the other—in spite of the warm reception and the uplifting weather, the tension wasn’t lessened by much.

Servants poured them tea. Red tea, leaves imported from the faraway island of Higoa in the east. Taking a sip, Yuliana went through her dialogue options again.

Which pressing matter should she bring up first?

The fate of her friends? Or that of her country?

Before she could decide, the Emperor made the decision for her.

“I want you to help me negotiate an alliance with your father,” he announced.

The man certainly didn't waste time.

“An alliance?” Yuliana hesitantly repeated.

“An open war with Langoria would be meaningless,” he explained, predicting her thoughts. “What I want is not land or villages, far less the villagers themselves. We have enough mouths to feed as is. No, it’s access to the southern harbors of your kingdom that I seek. Military access, to be precise. So far, war has appeared to be the only viable option to achieve that, but perhaps not now. With your highness here, maybe there is a way we can reestablish the diplomatic connection we once lost. Do you think you could lend me your aid in this endeavor?”

“What do you need our harbors for?” Yuliana frowned, recalling the geography of the continent. Southern Langoria was far detached from the rest of the civilized world, the harbors employed mainly by fishing vessels.

“For access to the sea,” the Emperor answered, as if it were perfectly obvious. “No. Access to Amarno.”

“Amarno?”

The answer didn’t help her confusion, apparent on her face.

The man went on to explain,

“Yes. As vast as my Empire is, proper sea access is something of a limited luxury at the moment. In the west, Felorn forms an impenetrable barrier to the most direct path to the Numenn sea. In the north, pirates of the Melgier bay harass our ships, burn our outposts, plunder our traders, and sabotage our shipyards. The prince of Luctretz is incapable of dealing with the problem, allowing pirate king Cartognam to roam free. Hunting the villains down while the principality shelters their ships and the Letovian isles hide their bases is a waste of time. Time, which we do not have. I need harbors to assemble and outfit a fleet. Access to the untamed, untouched southern seas through the lands of Langoria—that is what I need.”

Yuliana couldn’t hide her involuntary shudder.

“Surely you can’t be thinking of...”

“An all-out assault on the realm of daemons, yes,” the Emperor leaned his elbows on the table and crossed his fingers. “It has to be now. Now or never. After all, this year may very well be our last in this world.”

“Gelsemanhe’s prophecy,” Yuliana quietly said. “Unless the Trophaeum is conquered by the winter solstice, and someone righteous restores the world again, the Age of Chaos may begin. And—”

“—All built by living hands will fall to ruin,” the man nodded. “You know your history.”

“I thought it was only a myth. Is it possible? I...will we make it in time? There’s so little time left.”

“We must.”

Yuliana looked down at her tea cup, and the plate beside it where a very tasty looking slice of toasted bread had appeared, together with a perfectly cooked vrill egg, and select, bright-colored vegetables. She didn’t have an appetite.

“Father will not listen to me,” she said, “He doesn’t believe in the prophecy or the Covenant. He thinks it’s just an old fairy tale, that the Tower doesn't even exist. What’s worse, he thinks I’m a traitor. He must think that I ran off because I’m conspiring against him, like everybody else. You must know, my father hasn’t been himself as of late. He sees threats and schemes everywhere. I fear his high age has gotten to him. There’s no way I can convince him, when I'm...”

“We’ll convince him together,” the Emperor told her in an assuring tone. “I will not leave you to shoulder this burden alone. The might of the Empire will be behind you. He has no choice but to listen. Or else risk annihilation.”

“So you’ll go to war then? If he refuses?”

“What other choice do I have? Either Langoria burns. Or the world will.”

“What if—what if the prophecy isn’t true? We have no proof of it, do we? What if we are starting something we cannot take back, and it’s for no reason at all? A great many people could lose their lives. I was prepared to sacrifice myself to protect the Covenant. Even if it turned out that I was mistaken, I myself would’ve been the only one to pay the price. But the thought of so many innocent people, for possibly no reason—I can’t live with that.”

“The future is certain,” the Emperor replied. “There can be no mistake about that.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because so I've been told.”

"Told? By who?”

"The Lords.”

“The Divines…?” Yuliana waited to see the man crack a smile, a sign that he was joking, ridiculing her. He showed none, remaining stern, so she continued with a look of disbelief. “Your majesty can speak with spirits...? You mean to say they actually exist? In here? In this city?”

“Oh, they do.” The Emperor took his fork and knife, cut a large slice off of his crunchy toast and ate it with good appetite. "Ask them yourself, if you don't believe me.”

4

Izumi yawned wide. Ever since she had been freed from the council with Carmelia, the other summoned earthling, Benjamin Watts, had been bombarding her with questions non-stop, all the way through the lunch time and after. If there hadn’t been coffee, Izumi would’ve rioted, but Carmelia’s servants had miraculously been able to acquire some from his majesty’s pantries. Therefore, she only apathetically listened as the youth carried on with his queries, forcing a brief reply every once in a while.

Carmelia’s rank allowed her to have a whole section of the Imperial Palace to herself. It was a keep with one tower, a walled little yard and a gorgeous, multi-leveled terrace garden where small aqueducts delivered water to unknown flowers.

The most important part of the keep was the great library, however, which contained numerous ancient tomes not found anywhere else in the palace, or the entire human world. This library also served as the headquarters of those conspiring against his Imperial majesty.

To think that an organization plotting the ruler’s death had their stronghold in his own home...Izumi couldn’t decide if it was smart or just reckless.

The library was also where Benjamin dragged her to continue his interview.

“I see, I see! So man has reached the moon? Can that be true? You mean, they flew from one celestial object to another and back again with only a simple rocket and lived? That’s incredible! What year was it again? Nineteen-sixty-nine? I have to write this down...And who took the first steps up there? Oh, why couldn’t it have been me? No, wouldn’t you say that stepping into another universe entirely is by far more amazing, as achievements go? They didn't find any people on the moon, did they? So I did better. You don’t suppose there are any other summoned humans besides us two in this world? Can I say I was the first one? I’m totally taking credit.”

“Don’t know, and I’m seriously starting to hope not,” Izumi replied.

“So long as no one shows up to dispute it...right?” he winked. “The moons of Ortho seem pretty far away, I wonder if even magic could reach them? I thought about asking Carmelia, but there’s this kind of a difficult-to-approach, no-nonsense air about her, you know? How far does her portal spell reach, what do you think? It has to have some limitations, right? Surely not to other planets...”

“Probably?” Izumi shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, I’m not a magician.”

“Ah, yes, for some reason, humans from Earth can’t use local magic. What a shame...”

“Right...”

“Hang on,” Benjamin reached for a glass of water, while going through his notes, “about the second world war again, how many countries were involved, exactly?”

“You want me to name all of them? Give me a breeeeak...” Izumi bemoaned. In truth, she was secretly enjoying the conversation. Only, her age prevented her from getting too into it. She had to be the more mature one here. “World history wasn’t my strongest subject...”

“Why?” Benjamin looked astonished. “What are you talking about? Isn’t history the single most fascinating subject there is?”

“Well, I always wanted to get transported into another world, so I thought it was only a waste of brain space to learn about the old one...I would’ve rather memorized spell patterns than the dates of ancient wars and what somebody I don’t know did centuries ago.”

“Not quite sure if I can relate to that...”

“By the way,” Izumi thought of something, “I have a question too. What kind of a relationship do you have with Lia?”

“Huh? Lia?” the young man returned her a blank stare.

“I mean, you live here in her house like its your own, get to hang with her every day, act like you’re the best of friends, and I don’t see any other guys around...Are you her lover or something?”

“PFFFFFT—!” The young man spat his water all over his notes and started coughing frantically. Izumi had to whack him on the back to get him to breathe again.

“Don’t ever, ever say that again,” he scolded her. “She’ll kill me. Kill you. Kill us both.”

“Why?” Izumi shrugged. “What’s wrong with it? I don’t judge.”

“You don’t get it,” Benjamin shook his head. “To elves, we humans are no different from pigs. Lesser beings, get it? Our shared history is extremely brief, because before Amarno fell, they didn’t even consider us worth speaking to. Now, you wouldn’t take kindly to someone suggesting you sleep with animals, right? The same idea. Not very smart. A mortal insult. The fact that she’s come to the court and agreed to work with us is already a massive concession on their part. Unprecedented! She can’t be too happy about playing secretary to a bunch of apes, but she’s putting up with it for the common good. So try not to test her patience with topics of that nature, okay? Sheesh, this is bad for my heart!”

“Okaaaay...” Izumi agreed. Benjamin would probably choke for real, if he learned what she had made the sorceress do the night before.

And yet, Carmelia had indeed done it, without a word of complaint.

For the common good.

Izumi was a bit moved.

“Shortly after I was summoned,” the man explained his circumstances, “it was deemed that I had...well, rather insignificant combat ability. They wanted a ‘champion’, as had been written in an ancient prophecy, so my position quickly turned—how should I say—‘precarious’. In the end, Lady Carmelia took me in, thus saving my life. I reckon she thought I was a curious specimen of an unknown species, or something along those lines? The lady’s a bit of a scientist too, you see? With my knowledge of the other world and scholarly ambitions, I suppose I managed to evoke her sympathies. Although, I can tell she’s getting somewhat bored with me already. Either way, I don’t mind being treated as a pet or a slave, so long as I don’t have to fight for food out there in the streets. Not at all. There’s no future for me outside the palace. I’m doing my best to learn more about this world, so that I might one day be of use to her. You know, return the favor.”

“Hm, I see,” Izumi nodded. “So Lia’s a good girl, after all, huh?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe...”

At that moment, the doors opened and, to speak of the devil, Carmelia entered the library. Benjamin stiffened up at once and silenced himself.

“Oh, morning,” Izumi casually greeted the elven woman.

Without answering her, the Court Wizard glanced at the young man.

“The plan.”

“R-right away, ma’am!”

Benjamin got up from the table and hurried off to look for something.

Meanwhile, the sorceress’s eyes turned to Izumi.

“Have you dined and rested? Good. I will now tell you how to kill the Emperor.”

Soon enough, various documents were spread across the library table. All the relevant bits and pieces of information in the complex operation to take down the sovereign of the mighty Empire. Clearly the plot had been a while in the making.

“You actually agreed to it?” Benjamin asked Izumi. Apparently, he was in on the plot too. “Yikes. You have some guts, for a lady. Not that I don't like that.”

"Well, I gave my word,” Izumi evasively said. Courage had played no part in it.

"I'm impressed, really. But, I’d be lying if I said it was going to be simple.”

"It never is, is it?”

"No kidding. Firstly, there’s the Imperial Guard to mind. That means eight hundred elite knights stationed at Selenoreion, four hundred of them within the palace alone. This place never sleeps. Still, no matter how formidable they are, guards have routines, they have places where they have to be and where they won’t be. We’re right under the Empire’s belly here, hiding in plain sight. The guards will not pose a problem for us, so long as you stay mindful of their presence. The real problem are the unpredictable ones. That’s these guys.”

There was a stack of papers featuring some curious profile pictures, skillfully hand-drawn by an unnamed artist, in the absence of photography.

“The Guild of Heroes,” Carmelia continued in turn. “A band of mercenaries gathered mostly during the reign the previous Emperor. What began as a publicity campaign to raise public support for the northern war effort turned, over time, into something more. The members of the Guild are all accomplished, battle-hardened combatants, who have gone through the strictest selection process. They have each earned fame through genuine feats of war—in short, they are the strongest, most skilled soldiers of the Empire, fit to be called ‘champions’. The Guild is tasked with the most difficult and dangerous missions in and outside Tratovia’s borders, and have complete freedom to determine how they go about their work. Above the law, they pledge their loyalty to the Throne alone. They hold authority over the army, including the Imperial Guard. Due to last night’s attack and their respective failures in the process, the Guild has set his majesty’s protection as their topmost priority. You will not be able to get to him again, not without going through these people first.”

“So, we’ve reached the tournament arc then?” Izumi sighed. “I thought I’d avoid this the best I could.”

“Fortunately for us,” the sorceress ignored her odd remark and resumed, “of the present day heroes of the Guild, only four are present at the capital; the others are out on missions. Six are expected to return by the end of the week. In other words, if we are to strike, it has to happen before the reinforcements arrive, within the next six days. After that, our chances of slaying the Emperor will diminish beyond improbability.”

“So they’re good then? Those heroes?” the woman asked.

“You heard the lady,” Benjamin answered. “The finest soldiers of the largest human Empire, which also makes them the finest of humanity as a whole. Want my opinion? They’re invincible. Don’t think of them as people, they’re monsters, every last one of them. I honestly wouldn’t even think about fighting these guys. It’s a suicide, no two ways about it. Maybe if I had a gun or something, but this world doesn’t have firearms.”

“Yet, there could be a way,” Carmelia said. “You defeated a cirelo arcaenarian, who outranked human magicians by far. You fought a daemon in personal combat and lived; a feat even only few of my kind are capable of. Last night, you humiliated Bramms of the Grand Shield and Shivgried the Impaler before the Onyx Throne. If anyone has a chance to succeed in this task, it is you, woman from the otherworld.”

Benjamin raised his brows at the outrageous merit list but chose to remain silent.

Izumi awkwardly scratched her neck and said nothing either. She hadn’t really thought about her past deeds as somehow extraordinary. They had been but a sum of educated guesses, calculated effort, and an extra helping of good luck.

“Divide and conquer,” Carmelia advised her. “We will eliminate the four heroes at the capital one by one, then take out the Emperor. All in six days’ time.”

“Quite the gauntlet,” the young man noted. “Think you’re up to it?”

“I already agreed, didn’t I?” Izumi shrugged.

“The greatest obstacle on your path will be him.” Carmelia singled out one of the Guild’s mercenaries and turned his page up, like it was an ace in a game of Texas Hold ‘em. The likeness of a muscular, rather cruel-looking man was drawn on it.

“Waramoti, Heaven’s Hand, a mercenary from the faraway land of Oss. Born and raised a warrior in the wild, under the harshest of conditions, his strength is unmatched. A master of every weapon known to the warring races, he has never lost a battle or failed a mission. No one has ever seen the man bleed or cry. Some believe him to be more than a man. And in a sense, he is.”

“Some kind of a demigod?” Izumi asked, tilting her head.

“No, he’s most certainly a flesh-and-blood human being,” Benjamin answered. “The thing is, his powers are not entirely his own.”

“The Three,” Carmelia raised another scattered page. “The Divine Lords of Bhastifal, the protectors of the Empire. They reside in the Grand Temple and bestow their blessings upon the land. Cinithlea, the Lord of Blue; Gwanlyn, the Lord of Marble; and Yubilea, the Lord of Scarlet Flame. For thousands of years, this city has basked in their glory, allowing the heart of the Empire to prosper unhindered by adversity. The Lords do not meddle in human affairs or politics, the Covenant prohibits this. They simply are. They are Tratovia itself. And so they should have remained.”

The sorceress threw away the page. On it, only the Lords’ temple was drawn. Depicting the great spirits themselves was prohibited.

“Waramoti has seduced the Lords,” Carmelia said. “As result, the Three have granted him their favor, their powers, rendering the man effectively half a God. Yet, it is paramount to our objective that Waramoti is defeated. He is a lone wolf by nature, but should he team up with the other heroes, slaying the Emperor will become impossible. They will track us down and wipe us out.”

“So, how do you kill the guy?” Izumi asked, not sounding too troubled. The topic didn’t seem very real to her in the first place.

Even if she noticed it, Carmelia paid no attention to the woman’s careless attitude, but answered,

“There is only one way for Heaven’s Hand to fall. You must make the three Lords undo their blessings before you challenge him. Render Waramoti mortal again and you shall triumph. Or, at least your chances of doing so will greatly improve.”

“How do you suppose I bring the Divines to my side then?” Izumi inquired.

“You will go and ask them,” the sorceress replied.

“Ask them?” Izumi repeated in disbelief. "Um, why would they even listen to me?”

“You will ask them nicely.”

“That’s...”

“There is no other way,” Carmelia said. “No matter how corrupt, they are Lords. Their kind cannot fall by human hands. We have no way to threaten them. Nothing to bribe them with. They are the Empire itself—how would you even begin to coerce them? Even my own might pales in comparison to the Three. Anger the spirits and they will destroy you where you stand. But approach them with humility and respect, and there may be a chance you will win their sympathy. The Three are a haughty and conceited lot, susceptible to flattery. Keep this in mind and see them with caution. Go today. The sooner we can take care of this, the sooner we can move on with the rest of the plan. Remember, the time limit is only six days. Six days between victory and certain defeat.”

“Why do I have to go see them, anyway?” Izumi argued. “Silver Tongue wasn’t one of my starting talents. Wouldn’t it be a better idea to send someone more accomplished in the ways of diplomacy instead? Rather, why don’t you go? You seem pretty gifted at coercing people, by what I’ve seen.”

“H-hey!” Benjamin felt Izumi was going overboard. But Carmelia didn’t seem to care for the jab.

“I cannot go,” she only slowly shook her head. “I have consulted the Three in the past and found our differences...insurmountable. I will see them nevermore. The feeling is mutual. My chances of succeeding at this task are zero.”

“What about you?” Giving up on the sorceress, Izumi asked Benjamin.

“Eh? Huh?” The young man look exasperated. “Me? Talk to the Three? T-that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Why’s that? You do know how to...talk, at least.”

Thirty minutes in the same room with you and they’d probably do anything to make you stop, Izumi thought, but had enough tact to not say it out loud. He could've cried.

“No,” Benjamin shook his head. “No way! These beings have the power to reduce you to cinders with a snap! They can abduct people from other realities, affect events on a continental scale, and that’s not even the start of it. The very idea of speaking to such dreadful forces face-to-face makes me...want to look for a restroom, to be honest. No, I absolutely refuse.”

“Well, I don’t like it either!” Izumi bemoaned. “Why do we have to do this, anyway? If he’s that strong, wouldn’t this Barramundi guy kill the Emperor for us instead? Rather, why hasn’t he already? If he’s borderline god, why’s he content with serving somebody else, instead of taking the throne for himself.”

“A good point,” Benjamin replied. “I’ve been wondering the same, actually. Nobody really knows his motives. Waramoti’s not known to be particularly obedient as a soldier or good with authorities, but he also insists he’s not interested in ruling.”

“Perhaps he will one day change his mind,” Carmelia injected, “but we do not have the time to wait for that to happen. Neither do we want to trade a tyrant for another. For now, Waramoti’s loyalties are unquestionably with the reigning Emperor. Attempts to sway him risk bringing his ire upon us. Slaying him quickly before he is made aware of our plans is in our best interests. Undo his protections, catch him by surprise, and take his head. Think of this as your trial run before going after the other heroes.”

“I get it, I get it...” Izumi sighed. “I’ll go have a chat with the spirits then, as weird as that sounds. Have to admit, I’m a bit curious to see if the Lords here are as pretty as Ai-chan.”

The other two didn’t quite comprehend her reasoning.

“I have conditions, though,” she said.

“Again?” Carmelia’s expression clouded.

Izumi stated her demand with some sense of seriousness.

“I want to make sure Yule and Mira-rin are safe. If possible, I’d prefer that they didn’t pointlessly worry about me either.”

“Who?” Benjamin raised a brow.

“The Princess of Langoria and Colonel Marafel,” the sorceress inferred. “I cannot consent to that. Both are heavily guarded. I do not have the authority to change that, nor can I take you to see them. Any correspondence is liable to fall in enemy hands. Our plan relies on his majesty assuming you remain imprisoned. Being discovered while making contact with outsiders would mean the end of the line.”

“Then, you have better ideas?” Izumi asked. “I just need to get a message to them and back again, to check how they’re doing.”

“Is it entirely necessary? You will see them again when it is over. I doubt anything will be done about them in the next few days.”

“That won’t do,” Izumi refused. “I can’t focus on something this tricky if I have to worry about the well-being of my friends at the same time. I’ll be counting on you, Lia! You’re super smart so you’ll think of something.”

“And what if something does happen to either of them? It is not in my power to guarantee their safety. Their lives ultimately remain in his majesty’s hands.”

“Well,” Izumi thought, “if Mira-rin kicks the bucket, it will really, really, really be a shame, but I guess I can live with that. I mean, she’s a grown-up and should be able to look after herself. But...”

Black anger started to burn within Izumi at the very thought of the other scenario.

“...If anything bad happens to the princess, I will kill everyone I can get my hands on until dying myself. Of course, by that point, your plot will be good as over too.”

Chapter 3: The Lord of Blue Feels Blue

1

Meeting the Emperor had done little to improve Yuliana’s mood. The conversation was done and over with well before she could go through her own points of concern, and the princess was unceremoniously escorted back to her quarters. His majesty had simply said whatever he pleased and dismissed her once he was done, not all that unlike a true dictator. Not that she had expected much better, after everything she had heard about the man, but it was still a frustrating development.

“I look forward to hearing a favorable response to my request, come tomorrow morning,” he had said before departing.

At least he had been open to a peaceful solution, instead of trying to threaten and coerce her with open villainy. Yuliana felt slightly encouraged by the fact, even if she didn't dare to trust it. Reliable or not, it was through this negotiation that she had to introduce her own point of view to the Emperor.

But exactly how...?

Afterwards, Yuliana had been granted access to a garden at the root of her lonely tower, where to pass time with fresh air, and reflect on her situation. It was certainly a noteworthy improvement over the chamber in the skies, yet she remained a caged bird all the same. The solitary, securely locked exit in the perimeter fence was guarded by a pair of knights with their ornate halberds. Across the garden on the other side, a dramatic fall down the steep hillside awaited, the hard streets below it.

But despite her uneventful captivity, Yuliana’s worries were many and they helped time pass only too swiftly.

“Regarding my...associate,” she had managed to say to the ruler of the city, “would you not show her mercy? I know what she did was scandalous and a crime worthy of the capital punishment, but...would you not find it in you to pardon her, anyhow? From death, at least?”

“The assassin?” The Emperor had kept his expression neutral. “You would speak on behalf of such a foolish wretch?”

“Yes,” Yuliana had said. “She is a stranger to our ways, and views life like some sort of a game, but...she’s not evil inside. Reckless, yes. Rude, violent, ignorant, arrogant, irresponsible, weirdly stubborn about the strangest things, has no respect for anyone or anything, no sense of danger, knows no shame, and is an unbelievable deviant, but...I—I suppose I owe as much to her. She saved my life, so I am obligated to speak in her favor. A-and it would be too miserable an end for her, to perish without a full awareness of what she was even doing...”

Telling the Emperor directly just how important an existence Izumi was to Yuliana, she might have given him a dangerous leverage against her. The princess was aware of this. Regardless, she had tried to improve the woman's situation, so that at least the worst of punishments could be avoided.

But had her appeal been too feeble…?

“I shall see what I can do,” the Emperor had given a brief, absent-minded response, far from committed.

Restlessly wandering amid the beauty of cultivated nature in the garden, Yuliana tried in vain to forget the worries wrenching her insides. Was there nothing more she could do but wait again?

The Divine Lord within the princess remained silent.

In spite of her constant presence, it was normal for Aiwesh to take multiple days without speaking a word to her vessel. That was typical of her, but Yuliana felt the spirit had recently taken to deliberately ignoring her. By her waking positions, she knew the Divine occasionally consulted with Izumi, but whatever topics the two discussed weren’t shared with the princess, as she had no awareness at the times her body was possessed.

Being excluded was rather disheartening.

Am I that poor a vessel, not even worth being confided in? Am I only an inconvenience to my Lord? Like to my King...

Yuliana sighed and sat down on a bench by a row of vigorous apple trees near the fence. Behind the thin steel barrier, to the north, was another garden and a vegetable farm, with access to the workers’ kitchens. Occasional sounds of plates and metal tools clashing faintly reached her ears from the distance. Since becoming Aiwesh’s vessel, Yuliana’s senses had steadily sharpened over time. She discovered she could accurately pick out sounds, even conversations, from unnaturally far away. Her eyesight had always been keen, but now she could clearly make out even the tiny sparrows playing in the trees in the city far below. But her improved senses were of no use to the princess in this situation. If anything, they only highlighted all the things she was powerless to reach.

For once, I wanted to be the one to save her…

Suddenly, as Yuliana sat absorbed in recycling these depressing thoughts, strange sounds reached her ears. She heard unnatural rustling—not from afar, but from the very apple tree beside her. No way a sparrow was the cause of that sound.

What was going on?

As she looked up, trying to see through the dense foliage…

—“Uwaaah!”

...Someone came falling down.

Bewildered, Yuliana watched a young man drop down onto the lawn, covered in leaves.

“Ow, ow, ow! That hurt...That seriously hurt...” he moaned, struggling to get up. “Damn that witch! She landed me there on purpose. It was completely on purpose, I know it! I’ll so get her for this...!”

The youth brushed his white shirt and fixed the glasses on his nose, looking around.

“Phew, no guards. Must be my lucky day...Oh.”

Then, he noticed Yuliana.

The princess was too astonished to even manage a sound, and only stared back at the man.

“Eh, hello?” he said. “My...lord, you’re beautiful.”

“Eh?” Yuliana recovered and stood with an alarmed look. “Who in the world are you? Where did you come from?”

“Shh!” the man quickly shushed her. “Please, keep quiet. Act as if I’m not even here. I won’t hurt you or do anything suspicious, I swear. So please, whatever you do, don’t alarm the guards, okay? Please, please, please...”

“I won’t, if you explain yourself,” Yuliana felt he was nothing if not suspicious.

Not that the man seemed particularly dangerous. He was hardly any older than Yuliana herself or much taller. Not a knight or an assassin, that much was clear just by a glance.

“My name is Benjamin Watts,” the young man introduced himself. “Please call me Ben. I’m something of a freeloader here at the palace, or a witch’s apprentice, or a royal guest, however you want to spin it. And you must be the famous princess Yuliana, yes? I mean, no matter how I look at you, you have to be a princess. A goddess. By chance, I have to ask, are you seeing anyone right now? No princes around? I don’t see any rings on your fingers, does that mean you’re still in the free markets? Would you please consider going out with me...”

“I’m going to call the guards,” Yuliana said, narrowing her eyes.

“No, please don’t!” he pleaded. “A joke, just a joke, to break the ice! I’m simply here to deliver a message to your highness. And after this is done, I’ll be on my way out of here again. Nobody needs to get hurt.”

“A message?” Yuliana repeated, her suspicions not lessened in the least.

“Yes. I will tell you, just remain calm and try to act as natural as you can. I’m wearing a talisman that renders me invisible, but it’ll only work reliably over a safe distance and when I’m still. If the guards come too close, they’ll spot me, and that’s the absolute worst thing that can happen.”

“A messenger, you say?” Yuliana questioned him. “On whose behalf? Do forgive my doubts, but you don’t look like a sorcerer yourself, in spite of your tricks.”

“I shouldn’t say too much, just the message, in case the guards suspect something’s up and decide to question you, er, by unnecessarily forceful means,” he replied. “Look, I’ve met with your friend, Izumi. Did I pronounce it right? You know, the lady from the other world.”

Yuliana could barely maintain her composure at hearing the news.

“What!? You’ve seen her? Where? Where is she now? Is she all right?”

“Yes, she’s safe, she’s safe,” he answered. “We sort of got her out of prison, and everything’s fine for the time being. That’s what I came here to tell you. She also wanted proof that your highness is safe. Is there any message you’d like me to take back to her? You know, to give my report some credibility...”

“A message...” Yuliana tried quickly to think of something meaningful, and gazed out over the city, into the distant horizon. What did she want to say? What was the most important thing? Then, she made up her mind.

“Tell her not to worry about me and get out of this city. I’ll be fine. Tell Izumi to go and follow her dreams instead of wasting her time trying to save me again and again.”

Benjamin scratched his head.

“I don’t think she’ll be too happy with a message like that.”

“But she’ll know it’s from me.”

“How about something like this instead: ‘I’m safe and sound, so feel free to fight without care!’ Like that?”

Yuliana returned him a disapproving scowl.

“There’s already enough fighting in the world. She’s done her fair share of that, and too much of it for my sake. Adding to it still isn’t going to make me the least bit happy. I have to become stronger myself. Strong enough to fight my own battles.”

“Well,” Benjamin shrugged. “It’s not like I don’t see where you’re coming from. But, try to think of it this way: we all have things that we want in this world. Isn’t that right? Everybody wants something and they work hard to reach it. And sometimes, instead of themselves, people may want things for somebody else. And then, what they want for you ends up going against what you want for them. And it all becomes a downright mess. I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this, but the gist of it is, shouldn’t we all be free to pursue what we want and allow others the freedom to do the same, even if we’re not always entirely okay with it?”

“You’re right, not even I can tell where you’re going with this.”

“Let me just ask you this. What is it that you really want, your highness? I mean, really-really, in your heart of hearts.”

“What I want...” Yuliana repeated with a dejected look. “I cannot for the death of me remember when anyone last asked me that. Everyone is only too happy to decide things for me, be they emperors or villains. Or family.”

“Ah, a hard life. Again, I can sort of sympathize with your standing. But, you haven’t resigned to your fate just yet, have you?”

“Pardon me?”

“It’d be so much easier to just give up and let others dictate things for you from beginning to end. But even then, isn’t the truth that you’re still fighting for something, even now? Not every battle is a flashy one, waged with swords or fists. Sometimes, this right here is our only weapon.”

The young man tapped his temple with his index finger.

“That’s...”

“Now, do you think you’re fighting the right battle? The right way? For what you really want in this life? Your highness?”

“...I don’t know anymore,” Yuliana muttered and sat back down on the bench, staring at her feet. “I thought I was fighting only for my family, for my kingdom. My people. For the longest time, I thought it was the only fight that mattered. Who I was as a person or what I personally wanted played no part in any of it. My own modest wishes didn’t matter. There was so much more at stake than only me, something that exceeded one princess, one woman, by far. For the good of my people, I was prepared to make any personal sacrifice, no matter how heavy or painful. Even if it meant giving up my own life and happiness. But recently, my resolve on this has been tested time after time again. Did I truly even understand what ‘happiness’ meant? What if there are things in this world that will begin to seem more important to me than the fate of my own land? It’s...dreadful. To think that there exists a force, in us humans, that can enamour us so and rob us of our senses. Don’t you find that maddening?”

“I, uh, I’m not entirely sure I follow,” Benjamin nodded. “But isn’t it fine? What’s wrong with wanting to be happy? I mean, I’ve only known you for three minutes and I already feel like it’d be perfectly okay to throw away a kingdom or two for you sake. Yes, easily.”

“….”

“...Not that I have that kind of power. But if I did, probably.”

Yuliana answered him with another tired frown.

“Perhaps it is a blessing for us all that you don’t have that kind of power.”

“Ahahaa, well, a man can dream, right?” Benjamin laughed. “Well, at any rate, what shall I tell Ms Izumi then? ‘Fight for what you believe and I shall do the same?’”

“No. You will tell her to leave Bhastifal as soon as she can, and that’s that. End of discussion. No more fighting and killing, for any reason. And I mean it.”

“Okay, okay. I will tell her you said that. With a disclaimer.”

“And also tell her, I will absolutely not forgive her, if she starts something outrageous and dangerous again. I’m serious, enough have died, it has to end somewhere! That mad luck of hers can’t hold out forever. Sooner or later, she will wind up getting seriously hurt...No, I can’t even bear to think about it. Do your very best to make her give up on any attempts to rescue me, do you understand? Tell her, I will hate her forever, if she doesn’t escape immediately and live the rest of her life in peace, somewhere far away...For both our sakes. Yes. That’s it.”

“Eh...Okay, I believe I can relay an abridged version,” Benjamin’s smile was turning forced.

“Good,” the princess nodded. “My battle is henceforth as the princess of Langoria, with the Emperor. There is no need for anyone else to be involved in our dispute.”

“Ah, that’s right, I overheard you met with his majesty this morning. How was it? What did he want, by the way?”

“He wants me to convince my father to allow the Empire passage to the southern harbors of Langoria, where he means to assemble a fleet.”

“Wow, okay,” Benjamin nodded. “Did you give him an answer yet?”

“No, but I will tell him the facts. That it’s impossible. My father will not listen to me or him. All it will do is start the war that nobody wanted. And for what purpose? For another reckless attempt to invade the old continent, which will bring about countless casualties more? It’s senseless! Senseless and completely unnecessary. There must be another way. The world will not be saved with swords and arrows and steel. I will make him see that.”

“I, eh, don’t think that’s a very brilliant idea,” Benjamin grunted. “I’ve heard his majesty isn’t one to take no for an answer...”

“I know it won't be easy. But that is the battle I’ve chosen to wage.”

“Good grief...”

“Oh, it appears the guards are coming.”

At Yuliana’s observation, Benjamin looked up.

Indeed, there were two knights coming, their helmets visible over the gold rose bushes.

“Darn it! Darn it, darn it, darn it,” the young man started going through his trouser pocket, hastily pulling out a round bronze medallion with a purple stone at the center. Ancient text had been carved all around it. “How did this work again? Turn the inner part one click clockwise, the outer part two clicks the other way...Then speak the incantation...”

The guards turned around the corner of the flowerbeds. Their stride was quick.

Benjamin hid behind the apple tree near the bench where Yuliana was sitting.

“I really wanted to speak with you more, but...” he said, "...Ah! Wait, but we can! Take this!”

He struggled to dig through his pockets again, soon taking out an elegant little metal chain.

“I have another like it. If you hold it on your wrist, we'll be able to converse even over a great distance. Just don't let anyone see it, okay? The enchantment doesn’t have a whole lot of juice, so only use it if there's an emergency. Got it?”

“Yes, I understand. Go.”

“Oh, and try not to break it or lose it. It's kind of old and expensive, the owner will probably want it back. If something happens to it...She'll blame it on me, I'm sure.”

“I understand, go!”

“I will, I will!”

Gripping his amulet, Benjamin crouched and yelled, “Azulé!”

And vanished in a burst of sparkling, violet dust.

“In the end, who was he…?” Yuliana sighed.

The guards approached the princess and halted a few feet away.

“Was someone here?” one of them asked, glancing cautiously around.

“Yes, and he flew away,” the princess curtly answered as she stood. “I take it my break is now over?”

2

Stepping down from the grand Ptoloios’s gate, strolling southward along the streets of the second district, one would eventually arrive at the wide and serene Donethal’s Avenue.

There were no breath-taking palaces or mansions here, like the ones on the upper echelons, not too many tall towers or shrines either, no walled off fortresses, or expansive private estates with an over-abundance of room to spare. The tightly packed apartment complexes lining this avenue with their clean but economic, fenced front yards, were in the upper middle class in quality. They were fashioned, equipped, and furnished to the level that no Baron or Marquess had to feel shame over visiting them, even if the residents themselves were not quite as prestigious. Those inhabiting the buildings owned only one floor each, not the whole place, and were, even if well off, still to be counted among those who had to work for their sustenance. For appearances’ sake, at least.

One of those buildings, a bit past the midway point on the avenue, to the left, was a red-brown, five-story building, with its numerous windows lined with white. The normally inconspicuous entrance stood behind a tall iron gate, across a narrow front yard with its lawn dyed yellow by the scorching sun.

The key words were “normally inconspicuous”.

Today, this building somewhat stood out in the neighborhood, for among all the other buildings of similar look around, it was the only one to have its entrance guarded.

Simply by the look of the guards, it was impossible for any curious witness to deduce the reason for their presence. What were they guarding, exactly, and against who?

Keeping the answer a secret in this populated neighborhood wasn’t possible for long, of course. By climbing to the fourth floor of that building, one would come across two more guards, loitering in the hallway. And it was not classified information that the fourth floor in its entirety had been purchased once by a certain General Gorius Marafel, for his daughter, after she had been promoted to the rank of an officer and stationed permanently at the capital.

Said officer in question could rarely be seen behind the windows of her home, however. Work took her time. For this reason, the Colonel’s sudden return with a number of knights in tow was bound to draw the attention of numerous old wives’ gatherings along the avenue, where increasingly exotic tales of her possible misdeeds were traded without rest.

For the time being, no one was allowed to see the resident, and so these speculations had to go—to everyone’s frustration—unverified.

Now, if one could somehow slip past all the guards unnoticed, avoid being forcefully turned away, and then make their way up to the fourth floor, what would they find?

There was a long corridor going through most of the floor, with a number of doors left and right. One of those doors would lead the visitor to a spacious study, where the Colonel dealt with whatever paper work she had to bring home with her.

There was a sturdy office desk in the room, beneath a wide window facing the backyard.

There were large bookshelves, mostly filled with rather militaristic contents, personal documents, studies, notes, et cetera. A few mythological tomes were included, books on Divines, books on elves, rare books on exotic curses, and some such signs of passing interest. Left from the door was a more personal space, a shelf adorned with decorative elements, medals, diplomas, gift daggers, and other little tokens of professional success.

On the right then, far by the wall, was a leather couch where the resident could collapse after a day’s hard work.

There were also other rooms on this floor, naturally. A proper bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom, a living room, a servants’ room, to name a few—but there was no meaning in describing them; Miragrave Marafel rarely spent time in any.

This study was where she would come on those rare occasions when she happened to visit home, that desk was where she would spend most of her limited free time, absorbed in solitary labor, and on that couch she would lie down for a few quick hours of sleep, late at night.

The restless fever that burned within her allowed the Colonel no peace.

Perhaps it was the continuation of the fever lit in the jungles of the old continent? Although, what remained ablaze since that day was not her physical body, but her mind, her heart.

Now, she had returned home once more. Not quite the way she had envisioned.

The vengeance she had sought at all costs had boiled down to nothing.

So much had been sacrificed.

So many lives had been lost.

Too many.

And what was the outcome all that blood had extracted from the forests of Felorn, the green inferno some called the Darkwood?

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Instead of paying it off, Miragrave’s heavy debt had only been further increased.

Success or death—she had ventured out to find either of those.

Yet in the end, she could only return completely empty-handed, in disgrace, unfulfilled.

The shadowy figure of the Court Wizard examined the dimly lit study with emotionless eyes. Empty bottles of Benegavian wine littered the floor, like the tokens of some frivolous gamble. Among them were torn papers, sketches, plans, notes of past recollections, observations, memoirs of innocent, adventurous youth, dug out for a whim, then discarded as worthless and without purpose.

Among them, left carelessly on the red carpet were the black coat of a military uniform, tall boots, and gloves of fine Mangeria leather. By one of the boots was a bent and trampled colonel’s insignia, made of brass. And in the back of the room, on the couch, laid the figure of an adult woman, wasted and unconscious.

No. Despite the hefty amount of alcohol consumed over the course of the past two days, a distinct light of sentience remained in the dark. It intensified at the unexpected visitor’s approach.

“Took your time,” Miragrave spoke without getting up. “Well, isn’t this quaint? I expected a simple dagger. Then again, his majesty always loved his theatrics. There is certain, stark irony in my killer being you. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you had to dirty your hands on such a tasteless setup.”

Paying the misunderstanding no heed, Carmelia walked over to the window and looked at the small birds playing in the hedgerow lining the backyard.

“For once, I see you behave like one of your kind,” the sorceress said. “In a way, it is a relief. Yet, there is also disappointment in it.”

“I’m sorry,” Miragrave said. “I wasted your arrows. The beast was right there, within my arm’s reach. But I ran out of both courage and men. I could not avenge Thalinn, no matter how I tried. Next to this disappointment, nothing else compares.”

“Hatred for the Enemy consumes you,” Carmelia said. “For that, I thought of you as special among humans. Among the many of your people, only you could come close to understanding our fury. But I also have the age to acknowledge that hatred for what it is, a curse on its bearer. For having to endure it with a maturity so brief, wisdom so fleeting, I pity you, child of man. Death could free you of your torment. It may be the only thing that can. But is it what you desire?”

“Are you saying there is a choice for me?” Miragrave lazily waved her hand.

“There will be no forgiveness from his majesty, of course,” Carmelia said. “But by bringing that human to the court, you have shown that his majesty’s will is no longer absolute to you.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think of his will. What matters is that without his majesty, there can be no unity. In Tratovia, strength is everything. Evil or righteous, no one cares. The child left somewhere deep in my scarred breast wished for a hero to bring a new, brighter future for us. But our ‘champion’ has failed. Therefore, his majesty’s strength remains the only absolute to us. That is all it means.”

“That may yet change.”

“Excuse me, but I need no motivational speeches, even from you.” The Colonel improved her posture on the sofa, as if to go back to sleep. “I’ve had enough of plots and politics. If you are to kill me, then can I ask you to be swift about it? And if that is not the purpose of your belated visit, then could you ask the guards to bring more wine on your way out? I am in danger of becoming sober.”

“The woman still lives.”

The person on the couch remained silent.

No one else but the sorceress could have noticed that her body had tensed.

“She requested news of your well-being,” Carmelia continued. “Apparently, there is still someone in this city, who holds your life in value. Shall I tell her that you have given up on it?”

Miragrave spun around and sat up. She glared at the sorceress for a moment, the struggle for words apparent on her reddened face. That had to have been the first it happened, Carmelia noted.

“Lies,” the woman finally remarked in a bitter tone. “You toy with me, Caalan.”

“I am not nearly free enough for that.”

“Why? What does it mean?”

“I am being quite plain,” the sorceress extended her hands to her sides. “Will you live? Will you resign? You know there is no hope for us who still draw breath. Yet, we carve our path against odds and adversity, by whatever means at our disposal. Without relying on beautiful illusions to sustain us. Without being shackled by pride and dignity. If you live today, it means one more day to fight despair. Even if we must forsake our pride and smear ourselves in cold ashes to elude our hunters, we live and fight on.”

Miragrave stared at the floor in silence.

Having said all that she felt like saying, Carmelia turned to leave.

“Tell her,” Miragrave suddenly spoke. “Tell her...that for the pain rending my skull right now, I regret ever picking up coffee.”

3

A magnificent stone dome dominated the street view north-west of the Imperial Palace, roughly two thirds of a mile outside the walls of Selenoreion.

Surrounded by five sharp minarets, held up at the height of over two hundred feet by hefty stone walls, the dome was roughly two hundred and twenty feet across, patterned by tiny, diamond-shaped openings on the sides. The dome had been plated with copper in the later centuries, still in its original color, undimmed by the weather.

Architectural precautions to preserve the building were unnecessary in the first place.

That house could not be undone by any natural forces. No storm could shake its walls. No rain could corrode the stone, no lightning crack the mighty dome. The fiercest days of the hottest of summers couldn’t diminish the quality of its colors, even as thousands of years passed. Because that palace was protected by more than the natural resilience of the earthly elements it had been shaped of.

The Grand Temple of the Three.

The single most important religious construct in the City of Lords.

For it was the single religious construct that housed genuine Divine spirits.

It was the very reason Bhastifal was called, “the City of Lords” to begin with.

Not a myth, reality.

Reality proving a fairy tale.

As all the Empire to a degree, this building enjoyed the supernatural benefits of the Divine Lords who had embraced it as their earthly home. The unwavering, uninterrupted will of these beings enabled the land, the buildings, and the people alike to prosper with efficiency mother nature alone was powerless—or unwilling—to provide.

The wider the blessing’s scale, the lesser the effect.

Any old wizard or a town conjurer could bless a newborn and grant them a lucky charm for the early years of their existence, with varying levels of usefulness.

A skilled mage could bless towns, communities, strongholds, even cities.

But to bless an entire country and all the lives within its boundaries—such a feat could only be possible to a “Lord”.

In Bhastifal, the Lords numbered in three.

No more, no less.

The ancient Covenant prohibited Divines from favoring any single race above the others or becoming involved in their politics. The power of these magnificent beings was only ever intended to quietly sustain the world, nature, and life as a phenomenon.

To prevent another “War of the Gods” from ruining the fragile balance, boundaries were set that shouldn’t be crossed.

Nevertheless, it didn’t take a particularly enlightened mind to see the correlation between the presence of the Three and Tratovia’s continued success at subduing the other human nations of Noertia. It was not a coincidence that the Empire reigned supreme and flourished, even when the times were trying.

Now, rumor spoke of the Three having granted their favors to a single mortal.

Anyone could tell why such a thing was a sin beyond sins.

“Well, not like I can afford to complain,” Izumi shrugged, looking at the Temple’s facade. The summoned champion herself had received some minor favors from one such Divine. Although those favors rendered her anything but godly herself.

To have a fair fighting chance against her strongest opponent, the warrior Waramoti, Izumi had to somehow make the Three undo the blessings they had given him. She had no idea how she should succeed in this unreal task, but neither was she the type to plan ahead much. Under the cover of a hooded cloak, she joined the other pilgrims visiting the Temple and went in.

The Grand Temple had the universal structure of any religious building, Izumi observed.

There was an entrance hall, where people were asked to leave their shoes and wash their hands. After these simple rituals, access was granted to the main hall. It was a simple, tall room, with small, flat pillows instead of chairs, where the believers could kneel in quiet prayer. Directed ceremonies were held twice a day, but people were free to come any time they pleased. The doors were open day and night. Priests and priestesses would consult the populace, read prayers, burn incense, offer fruits and vegetables as sacrifice to the spirits, or deliver people’s gifts to them.

There was no trace of the Divines themselves to be seen in the ceremonial hall, however. Not even a single portrait or a statue. Strict, ancient laws prohibited depicting the Divines by any means, and so not even simple symbols were there to remind people of their presence.

Not many knew, it was for practical purposes.

After all, if people were to worship simple pictures, the beings themselves would not reap the benefits of their emotions.

“How can I talk to them?” Izumi had asked Carmelia before leaving.

If the Lords were spirits and she couldn’t even see them, it was going to pose a bit of a problem for the negotiations. In response, the sorceress had given the woman a ring. A simple silver ring with some kind of an elaborate symbol against a black background.

“Is this some kind of a magic ring that lets me see spirits?” Izumi had wondered.

“It’s not for the Lords that you wear it,” Carmelia had answered. “Show this to a priest to have them let you to the inner sanctum. The rest you will discover once there. But do not let anyone else see you have the ring.”

Fiddling with the quest item in her pocket, scared of losing it, Izumi walked across the hall and approached one of the priests lighting candles in the back.

“Sorry to trouble you, but do you know what this is?”

The priest gave the ring a look, then another to Izumi herself, and continued to light the candles without a word, as if nothing had happened.

Izumi was beginning to wonder if she had done something wrong, when the priest quietly spoke,

“Our Lords are...not in a favorable mood today.”

“Are they ever?” Izumi shrugged. “I met a pretty cranky one a while back. Though he didn’t have a house this pretty.”

“A priestess was badly burned earlier in the morning. Even so, do you wish to go?”

“Not like I have a choice, geez.”

“Does your family know? You may not come back.”

“I have enough butterflies in the stomach without the hype. Can you just show me the way, okay?”

Lighting the remaining candles in no hurry, the priest then turned and walked to a little green door in the far back of the hall, behind silky, blue veils hanging form the ceiling. Izumi hoped that his hands were trembling only for age-related reasons, as he dug out a set of keys from under his cape and unlocked the door. Opening it only a little, he nodded to Izumi.

“Go.”

Izumi stepped in and turned to look at the priest, who remained behind at the door.

“Not coming with?” she asked.

“No way in Hel.”

The priest slammed the door shut.

The sound of the lock echoed ominously in the tight space.

Izumi found herself in a narrow, low corridor of stone, maybe twenty feet long. In the other end were stairs, with light coming from the room above. Throwing unnecessary thoughts from her mind, steeling herself, Izumi went on, climbed the stairs, and came out in a hall even larger than the previous one.

This was the inner sanctum of the Grand Temple.

It had to have been directly under the great dome.

It was a circular room with stone floor, spiky patterns pointing away from the center. No pillows to sit on. No chairs or furniture of any kind, for that matter. Only smooth stone, with a little channel circling around the hall, close to the walls. In the channel, crystal-clear water ran nonstop. The only light sources were those rectangular windows high up in the bare ceiling. The light shifting through the windows bounced off the pale walls, filling every corner of the space, not very brightly but sufficiently, so that nothing could remain hidden.

A mysterious, unsettling peace filled the room.

Rather than a temple, it felt like a mausoleum.

As if time itself had no passage here, everything was perfectly silent and still. The noise and rumble of human life outside failed to penetrate to this space. It was not the natural sort of peace, resulting from the lack of disturbing factors, but rather, the forced kind, where an unexplained power suppressed all motion and friction. Izumi noted that even her tinnitus had ceased. If not for the sound of her own footsteps, she would have thought she had gone deaf.

The air was so still, Izumi initially assumed the room was empty. She couldn’t sense anything. On the first glance, she had seen no one either. As said, there were no places to hide.

However—when she looked again, Izumi suddenly saw another person standing ahead, across the hall.

A woman. Where had she appeared from?

There was no plausible explanation available.

The woman had her back turned, and so Izumi couldn't see her face, only her long, unnaturally blue hair that spread like a cape and veiled most of the figure dressed in an elegant azure dress.

——“Why are you here, mortal?” a voice rang across the hall, clear and strong.

“You're not much for chit-chat either, huh?” Izumi said.

“Oh no. I am a Lord of action,” the blue-haired woman replied and turned around, a faint smile on her lips.

Izumi wasn’t disappointed.

This Divine was a different kind of beauty from Aiwesh, but a beauty nonetheless.

Describing her as “more human” would’ve been a bit off, perhaps “closer to earth” might give a more accurate impression.

Or better yet, “closer to sea”.

Like her hair, the woman’s appearance was predominantly blue.

Deep blue were her eyes, her clothes, her nails and brows, and even her pale skin seemed to hold a faintly blue hue. Other than that, she looked convincingly human. More human than Aiwesh with her magnificent wings and lengthy animal ears, and certainly more human than Matheus in his guise of a woodland elk.

“Was that not what you expected me to say?” the blue lady asked with a humorous look. “'Who doth disturb our slumber?' Oh, no need to worry about that, human. I already know who you are and why you are here. Shall I answer my own question instead?——You are here to ruin us.”

—“Are you here to ruin us?”

Suddenly, another person appeared out of nothing to stand right next to Izumi, on her right.

Another woman, or a girl more like, slender and agile, in a fancy little dress the color of gerberae, and short hair like vibrant flame. Flame also danced in her bright eyes, filled with indignation.

—“Will you be the one to ruin us?”

Immediately after, a third girl emerged from nothing on Izumi’s left.

This one had a strictly earthly color scheme, being dressed in a beige, long-sleeved kimono, and her hair as well was like desert sand, long and straight. Of the three, she was the shortest and youngest-looking, although she also gave off a more stable, balanced vibe.

Of course, any mention of age was without meaning when discussing such beings.

They were as old as the earth itself.

As old as the first flame.

As old as the sea.

“Yes, not spooked at all,” Izumi said, trying not to look at the girls surrounding her.

“You are the herald of the White Death, yes?” the blue spirit said to her. “It is meaningless to deny it. I can see you have been touched by her. You are not a human but a pawn she has called from another world, to lay waste to all of Ortho, our creation. I know she is here. This is our land, has been for long, and nothing treads it without our knowing. Even now I sense her accursed radiance, which she does not even bother to try hide from us. Gone is our brother’s soothing aura from the Darkwood, whereas the blaze of Brann’s monster has only grown bolder. And we are to be the next, no? What is your intrusion here then, if not a declaration of war, you flagbearer of evil?”

“We’re sure off to a great start,” Izumi made a troubled frown. “Are you talking about Ai-chan now, by chance?”

Turning away, the blue Divine waved her hand to dismiss the visitor.

“Return to your master. Tell that forsaken abomination that we will not submit! If she wants our heads, then may she come claim them with her own hands, if she dares.”

“I’ll do that if I happen to see her again, but that’s not really what I’m here for...”

“It matters not,” the spirit continued. “Your schemes do not matter. We are already ruined, without a doubt. Humans, Divines, the rest. The same as this world. It is only a matter of days now before we are swept off into the unknown abyss that awaits. Enjoy life while it lasts, mortal. For it shan’t be long.”

“Because of the prophecy?”

“Prophecy?”

“Don’t speak of prophecies to us, mortal!” the red spirit snapped.

“What is only song and legend to you beings of flesh is an astronomic certainty to us, faithless one,” the brown spirit said.

“My, you’re a depressing lot,” Izumi sighed. “Don’t tell me you’ve given up on life without even trying? Not that I can afford to lecture, being an ex-NEET and all, but it’s never as bad as it looks.”

“And who says we ever sought salvation?” the blue Divine asked. “For thirty thousand years, we have followed the cycle, and protected the Covenant. And despaired for it. War, peace, war, peace, war, peace, war, peace, war and peace, times thirty thousand. Vain, childish bouts of hope, followed by waves of indiscriminate death, all caused by mortal stupidity. Nothing more. Nothing new. Only stagnation. No matter how the world changes, you humans remain enslaved by your nature, unable to rise above it. And emiri...so high they reached once, only to fall. Many were the stars once, but now the night spreads bleak and dark. Enough is enough. It is time for this failed creation to end.”

“Hold your horses, I only just came to this world,” Izumi interjected. “There’s a lot of content left to explore and I don’t like games with strict time limits very much, so why don't we work together to extend it a little?”

“Do whatever you please,” the Divine Lord shook her head. “We neither hinder you nor assist you. Such is not our role. Besides, aided or not, nothing you do matters, you spec of dust in the cosmic flow.”

“Do whatever I please? Well, with your permission then.”

“Hiya—!

“Wah—!”

Izumi proceeded to grope the butts of the two girls next to her, squeezing them closer.

“You’re pretty shapely for spirits,” she observed. “Whatever happened to the rule about possessing intelligent races? You say nothing matters, but aren’t you plenty involved as you are?”

“Ha—how dare you!” the red Divine jumped back, her face now bright red as well. She raised her hand, her fist becoming veiled in bright flames. But the blue Lord further ahead stopped her companion with a gesture.

“We let go of the rules, because it doesn’t matter,” she said. “Whether we obey the Convenant or reject it, whether the Covenant stands or breaks, whether we lose our powers or not, it will not stop the inevitable or even slightly delay it. Therefore, what harm is there in us briefly savoring the joys of mortality, before we return to nothingness again? What would you do, were you in our position?”

“Well, I'm not judging, really,” Izumi shrugged. “But right now, your whims pose a bit of a problem for me.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“The guy you’re sponsoring, Barracuda or whatever the name was—I was asked to go off him, but you apparently went and gave him straight up God Mode. Cheating in multiplayer mode sucks big time, so could you lower the difficulty a little? I mean, by a lot. At least give me a fighting chance, okay?”

“You would slay Waramoti?” the blue spirit suddenly gasped with a shocked look.

—“No way!”

—“You can’t!”

The other two added their shocked protests.

“Why not?” Izumi frowned. “He who picks up the sword should die by one, right?”

“Labeling him a common brawler shows you know nothing of the man,” the Divine further back shook her head. “Waramoti’s services are invaluable to us. He will not be killed, by your hand or any other’s. We absolutely refuse.”

“Services?”

“That is none of your concern. It is clear to me by just a glance that you are a foreigner to romance, your being untouched by love. And Waramoti’s achievements in the craft go beyond your untrained understanding.”

“Well, I felt a lot of romance just now, with both hands,” Izumi grumpily replied, offended for having her inexperience brought up.

“Why you, barbarian—!”

“Please leave. Our communion is over.”

“Fine, fine,” Izumi sullenly turned to leave. “All this means is that I’ll have to beat him without your help.”

Her parting remark was followed by a stunned silence.

Then, all three spirits burst into bright, spontaneous laughter that echoed all around the dome.

“You, who are nothing but shadows and dust? Overcome our blessings? Defeat Waramoti, who they call Heaven's Hand? Ahahaha!”

“Hahahahahaha! You might as well throw yourself down from the palace wall on your way home!”

“Do you know nothing at all, you fool of a human!? Hahaha!”

“We’ll see who gets the last laugh,” Izumi defiantly retorted. “Don’t think I’m some kind of a casual, I cleared all the chalice dungeons in Bl*****rne. I like challenge as much as the next person.”

“Challenge? What you speak of is impossible!”

“Nothing is,” Izumi said. “It's just a matter of methods.”

“Very well then!” the blue-haired woman exclaimed. “Show us the impossible then, if you are so certain! Struggle and struggle, 'o Champion of White! Entertain us to your last breath! The least we can do is let you know what you are up against. So that you may know the extent of your foolishness and despair!”

"Huh?”

A haughty smile on her face, the Divine introduced herself to Izumi.

"I am Cinithlea, the Lord of Blue, created by Numenn, the departed God of Seas. My Authority is ‘Blue’! All that is blue in this world is mine to use as I please. My blessing allows one’s spirit to flow free and unhindered, as the endless sea.”

“I am Gwanlyn, the Lord of Marble,” the pale kimono girl spoke in turn. “Made by Genostro, the passed God of Stone. My authority is ‘Marble’, the house of body, the body of art. My blessing grants people fortitude beyond their frame, to retain their resolve even under the fiercest of storms.”

“I am Yubilea, the Lord of Scarlet Flame!” the third one announced. “The Authority the God of Fire gave me is ‘Scarlet Flame’! A fire that is mild, lights up the night and invites one to dance! My blessing allows people’s spirits to blaze against the cruelty of nature, and ensures flawless performance heedless of outside conditions!”

“Thanks for the tips,” Izumi nodded. “I hope you won’t regret sharing.”

“No,” Cinithlea shook her head. “For as long as our power stands, there will be no victory for you.”

The summoned champion exited the inner sanctum of the Temple with the spirits’ jeers and giggling in her ears.

Their message wasn’t lost on Izumi, in spite of her carefree act.

Even separately those blessings sounded like trouble—and Izumi’s foe held all three, on top of his innate talents as a warrior, a hero.

What did Izumi herself have?

Nevertheless, there was no choice.

One way or the other, she had to succeed. Too much depended on her.

Unfortunately, things were only going to get worse for her.

4

Izumi wandered the streets of the city for a good long while, lost in thought, as well as lost for real. The reddening sun was already beginning to set by the time she finally found her way to the backdoor in the palace wall, which took her directly to Carmelia’s keep.

The Court Wizard herself wasn’t at home.

Only young master Benjamin Watts could be found in the library, his usual hideout, absorbed in reading.

“Oh, there you are,” the young man greeted Izumi. “You made it back in one piece! Congratulations! Not that I ever doubted you would, but the spirits can be a bit...unpredictable. Or so I’ve heard. Temper, temper. We mortals can’t imagine what goes through their minds, can we? Anyway, how did it go?”

“No cake,” Izumi shook her head. “They really like the guy, it seems.”

“I was afraid of that,” the young man grimaced. “Well, it was fifty-fifty. Either we succeed or we fail. Worth a try, no? For now, I suppose we just have to focus on taking down the other champions while avoiding Waramoti the best we can. No matter how powerful he is, he’s only one man. If we can separate him from the Emperor, we can snatch victory from his hands like a toy from a baby...not that that would be a very heroic thing to do. The bottom line is, we can deal with Heaven’s Hand after the rest is taken care of.”

“Right,” Izumi nodded. “Then, I guess it’s time I worked for my upkeep.”

“Good. Keep positive, Izumi. If you really are as able as Lady Carmelia thinks, you’ll be fine. I have faith in you. Since, well, my own well-being happens to depend on your success as well. Ah, forced to sit still, while women hold swords—at times like this, I really hate my own weakness...”

“Feel free to give it a try, anytime,” Izumi suggested.

“I wasn't built for violence!” Benjamin gasped in response. “Oh, but I have some good news too. We got in contact with your friends. Both are doing fine, for the time being. The princess sure is a looker. Any chance you could put in the good word for me? I’m not entirely sure if I made a favorable first impression...”

“She’s engaged.”

“No!” Benjamin’s posture collapsed. He was also quick to recover again. “Well, she hasn’t said, ‘I do’ yet, has she? I could still have a shot, don’t you think? I mean, weddings have been called off before. Maybe my good looks will win her over?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. What about plan B?” Izumi asked, not very pleased with the topic and determined to change it.

“Plan B? I suppose, if I can gather enough coin, I could hire somebody to shank the fiancé, and then show up at an opportune moment to console her highness in her grief...”

“...The plan to kill the Emperor.”

“Ah! Right. Certainly. W-we’ve prepared an alternative target, just in case things went awry with the spirits.” Benjamin turned back to the table and picked up one of the documents, which he then handed to Izumi. Drawn on it with great skill was a hulking, crude man wearing next to nothing but a black sack to hide his head and a stained leather apron.

“Raleigh, the Executioner.”

Izumi looked at the paper and groaned.

“Why always...”

“He’s supposed to be a mercenary, not an executioner, really,” Benjamin explained, “but if he’s away from the battlefield for too long, he goes chopping necks at the block to, er, 'not lose his touch'. So the report from the Circle says. He’s also known to habitually wreck pubs at the slums for sport. Doesn’t treat women too kindly. His 'lovers' tend to wind up dead and in pieces after a night with him, but his rank in the Guild keeps him above the law. He’s no conventional hero, obviously, but the military still considers the man an asset to the Empire. Because he really is rather unnervingly strong and only too eager to fight anything that moves, human or not.”

Benjamin went on to dig out a map of the city and spread it across the table, while Izumi forced herself to pay attention.

“This is his usual strike zone,” the man explained. “Following his moves for months, the Circle has learned to predict his behavior to a degree. Raleigh hasn’t picked a bar fight yet this week and he always goes drinking after a day of executions, so he is likely to do so tonight as well. We anticipate that he will hit either one of the two places here. He won’t venture near the western district that way, because that’s where Waramoti frequents. I heard they got into an argument some time ago, over Raleigh killing a prostitute Waramoti was acquainted with. After the trashing he received, Raleigh knows to keep his distance now. Oh, but that’s not important, is it? The gist of it is, so long as you can keep the fight here, you don’t have to worry about them joining forces. Locate the target, stalk him, and catch him off-guard when he’s suitably distracted with his business. That’d be my suggestion.”

Benjamin tapped the location marked with a red circle on the map.

“Okay then,” Izumi sighed. “No two ways about it. I did give my word and all. I’m going to need a weapon.”

“Right, what can I get you?” the man asked, wiping his hands. “We have access to the Imperial armory, so I can arrange you practically anything. Swords, spears, daggers, bows, the kitchen sink, take your pick. Lady Carmelia has quite the selection of poisons as well, if you want to go for a more discreet approach. Although, I’ve heard the Executioner’s abnormal appetite has made him near immune to most common toxins, so it might not be too effective, after all...”

Izumi shook her head.

“I only want my own sword, thanks.”

“Your sword…?” Benjamin repeated. “You mean, the one you were arrested with...”

“Yup, that's the one. I’ve been using it for a good while now and got used to how it feels. If I suddenly switch for another, I might mess up at the critical moment. Yeah, it wouldn't feel right without that one. Nothing else is gonna cut it.”

The young man looked troubled for a bit.

“Well...if that’s how you put it, we might have a bit of a problem.”

“A problem?”

“See, after you were caught, the sword was confiscated and sent to the armory...”

“...And you said you have access to the armory, didn't you?”

“Yes, yes, I did, but...so do a lot of other people too, you know? Knights come and go there every day and...well, someone noticed the sword. Earlier this morning.”

“And they took it?” Izumi guessed.

“Yes, they checked out with it,” he admitted. “What’s worse, it was a hero of the Guild. He took a liking to the weapon and, you know...that man has it now.”

“That man? Who?”

Making a pained face, Benjamin appeared reluctant to answer her.

In the end, however, under Izumi’s expectant stare, he finally drew breath and named the thief.

“Waramoti.”

Chapter 4: The Stalking Nightmare Has Left a Mark

1

Down the staircase of a little brothel in the Pequed alley stepped the man known wide and far as “Heaven's Hand”. His imposing frame had to bend low to keep his head from hitting the ceiling on his way down, and his heavy feet made the stairs squeak like tormented animals on each step. Although the warrior's mind was persistently elsewhere, he unconsciously controlled his weight just enough for the old boards to endure his passage. The few customers around on the first floor quickly hid themselves at one glance upon his countenance, regardless of how it brought their valor and mandhood to question.

Not that anyone could blame them for it.

Even though the regulars and employees of the brothel alike had become more familiar with Waramoti's character and appearance in the years following his coming to the Imperial capital, one simply couldn't gaze at the strongest hero alive and not be overcome with healthy fear and awe.

Normally, that is.

Lately, his looks had been even stranger, more unsettling than usual.

For some reason, the man had painted himself blue.

That paint covered most of his form from head to feet, hiding the iconic tattoos and scars coursing along his frame, disguising even most of the facial features. Stained blue was also his long hair, much to the vexation of the women who admired it. And as if to further show off the unusual color, he wore next to no armor, save for standard bracers, combat shoes, and padded leather trousers, his muscular upper body and head completely bare and vulnerable.

Why?

No one could understand.

Was it war paint, in his native land’s fashion? Was he preparing his mind for some difficult battle? Or had he gone mad in anticipation of one? Was it some religious rite, meant to ensure good hunting luck? Or was it just his favorite color? An accident with some palace workers? The theories varied. Only one thing was for certain: no one dared to laugh aloud at the sight of him, even if the urge did occur to them.

Without uttering a word, Waramoti headed across the shabby little lobby to the front door, shoved it open, and disappeared into the night, allowing everyone left behind in the house to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

The narrow alley outside had become flooded due to the rain, which had started near the end of the sixth period. One of the downsides of being placed at the base of a hill. The few remaining, scattered cobblestones in the mud were in danger of becoming carried away by the various little streams coursing toward lower land. Waramoti paid the weather no heed.

As said, his mind was elsewhere.

Where, exactly? Who could tell?

What went through the mind of a legendary hero, surely no average person had the capacity to understand him. Not even the most skilled mages out there could probe the thoughts lurking under that severe brow. His reflections remained known only to the man himself and he rarely made the effort to express them aloud. Many songs, poems, ballads, and plays had been written about Waramoti's deeds, but not even the composers of those works of art presumed to understand the will guiding his weapons.

Yes, songs had been written about him. That was, in truth, where the rub lied.

For a brief moment, the warrior paused, glanced up at the tearful heavens, let out a barely audible sigh, and turned to head west along the alley, to home.

——“Hello handsome! I heard you have something of mine!”

At that moment, a sudden, cheerful call from behind his back interrupted Waramoti's feet.

Slowly, the warrior turned his wide shoulders and looked back.

At the eastern end of the muddy alley stood a lone woman.

A woman of foreign looks, in dark clothes. She was unarmed, but there was rather unfeminine fortitude in her confident pose. Moreover, her voice lacked fear. A quality no one addressing Heaven's Hand had exhibited in many long years. Probably no one since his own mother. That aroused his curiosity for a fleeting instance. Who was she, exactly?

Then, that instance passed.

No matter how famous or powerful he became, Waramoti's days were rarely without challengers.

Men, women, children, non-humans, even beasts, anyone who made a living through combat and desired fame in the field would sooner or later find their way to him, the mightiest of all. Victory or defeat, they thought to at least boast with the effort.

Although, in this case, the word “challenger” could just as well be substituted with “deranged, suicidal idiots”. The defeated would be left with no cause for pride, or the means to express it. Regardless of who they were or where from, their endeavors would all end the same way—miserably.

“Something of yours?” Waramoti said, his voice low like distant, rumbling thunder.

“That's right,” the woman nodded. “Well, it's not like I paid anything for it and I have no ownership certificate to show either, but I happen to have grown quite fond of the thing over our brief partnership and I'd really like it back. So hand it over in peace and quiet, okay? I'm not normally the type to cry over stolen bicycles or such—but this is like buying a new game only to find out that the store clerk has redeemed your DLC code. And I can tell you, that seriously blows.”

“What?” the warrior wasn't quite following the conversation.

“The sword, Steve,” the woman, Itaka Izumi, pointed at the weapon on Waramoti's back. “That's my sword. The harness too. I want them back, both, as they happen to have some emotional value, beyond the practical sort. Hurry up and take the hint! Not like you have anything else of value on you.”

Waramoti had claimed possession not only of Langoria's fabled relic, but also of the magnetite harness which allowed one to conveniently carry the great weapon on their back. For Izumi's slim figure, the sword had doubled for a shield in this fashion, but between Waramoti's wide shoulders, the Amygla looked awkwardly thin and frail.

“This is yours?” Waramoti said, removing the blade and holding it up in the air. “Then you were the assassin at the court? You have escaped?”

“It could've been me or it could be that I wasn't, but let's not get stuck on the little details, okay? If you give the sword back like a good boy now, I'll let you off with just a motherly scolding tonight.”

“And if I don't?” The man watched rain bounce off of the mirror-clear blade. It really was superb craftsmanship.

“Then I'll have to pry it off your stiff, dead fingers,” Izumi answered. “And I happen to know someone who's wholly opposed to looting corpses, so I'd rather not, if I can help it.”

Her statement was followed by silence.

Only the muffled drumming of rain on the cheap plate roofs of the slums could be heard, as the warrior and the woman stared at each other, not batting an eye. The brothel's gutter flooded over, throwing an irregular sprinkle on the lid of a trash can by the wall, pat-pat-pat-pat-pat.

Then, a customer staggered out of the building.

“I'll be back, Ledivia! I promise I will!” he lovingly shouted back into the doorway. “As soon as the next payday comes, I shall come see you again! Please wait for me. And then I shall keep my promise to—”

First he saw Izumi and forgot what he was saying. Then, following her line of sight, he saw Waramoti. Spinning around twice, the drunkard made a swift retreat back into the brothel and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Tch,” Waramoti chuckled and turned to leave. “Go home, woman. I have no quarrel with you.”

——BADAM!

In the next moment, the trash can came crashing down on the warrior’s head. The lid went right, the bottom part left, leaving his shoulders veiled with the rotten remains of leftover food, dirty rags, and other miscellaneous articles that were best left unidentified, as well as undescribed.

Needless to say, Waramoti stopped.

The trash can had been quite heavy, yet no visible harm had come to him. Visible harm, that is. What were the state of his pride and dignity at that moment, anyone could attempt to deduce this by imagining oneself in his iron-plated boots.

“Oops, my hand slipped! Tehehe~!” the woman behind him announced, not in a very apologetic tone.

Pressing his lips tighter together, Heaven’s Hand turned, his eyes flashing with fury. He lifted the greatsword in his hand, which he had been about to put away, and flung it over his shoulder, like a whaler captain about to impale the fish he had an undying vendetta for.

Boom.

The blade shot through the rain like an unstoppable bolt.

The horrifying might of mankind's greatest hero behind it, it could have no doubt pierced a wild boar, like a toothpick would a ripe olive. His aim as well was without error. The sharp tip of the sword beelined for the lone woman's heart and sank effortlessly through her soft figure—or not quite.

Having provoked him on purpose, Izumi had of course anticipated the attack.

Reading the warrior's moves, tracing his line of fire, she quickly twisted her upper body sideways and threw her right arm behind her—to catch the handle of the blade as it flashed past her.

Still, the force behind the heavy projectile was monstrous.

It pulled Izumi along with it and she was dragged back a good distance on the muddy street, sliding on her heels, before she could fully still the momentum. Her shoulder as well was nearly pulled out of its joint and the pain made her contort her brows.

But only the results counted.

Once again, Izumi clutched her beloved weapon in her grip and nothing else mattered.

“Thanks a bunch!” she gleefully said, shrugging off the pain, and faced Waramoti again. “This is nothing personal, kid, but I'm going to have to kill you now.”

Saying no more, completely forgetting about her earlier promise, Izumi dashed through the rain.

“Hmph!” Waramoti, now left unarmed, made no effort to escape or look for a replacement weapon, but faced the woman head on.

Sprinting to him, then side-stepping quickly at the very end, Izumi raised the greatsword and cut down at her opponent's unshielded neck.

Waramoti, with no means to defend himself, raised his bare hand in a futile effort to—

BANG——

With a steely, reverberating sound of impact, the Amygla's blade was stopped.

Receiving it with his unshielded palm, as if his hand were the strongest buckler in the world, Waramoti caught Izumi's killing blow and held her back, not giving in an inch.

Not a drop of blood seeped from the naked hand pushing against the edge of the elven relic. His skin was like that of a daemon—no, something even harder.

Impossibly hard.

Its resilience surpassed even the hardest known metal in the world.

Of course.

Because he had painted himself blue.

The power protecting Waramoti's body wasn't mere paint or an enchantment, or anything that could be scientifically measured, quantified, or compared.

It was nothing short of a “Law”.

Not a law written by the hands of mortal men, declared by any earthly judge or a politician, but an absolute rule made at the creation of the world.

A fragment of a true God's power——the Divine Authority of Lord Cinithlea.

“Blue.”

So long as “blue” was one of the properties of an object, all that object's other properties could be freely modified by the Divine Lord. If only she willed it, a “blue” object could also be “impenetrable” just as well as “everlasting”. This was the best possible measure the ancient spirit could take to ensure the survival of her mortal champion, even if such shameless partiality violated the very Covenant that the departed Gods had forced on their orphaned children.

Not even the Divine Lord could escape this transgression without penalties. Her favoritism considerably diminished her powers, and so long as Waramoti held her Authority, it could not be used for any other purpose—a sacrifice Lord Cinithlea herself considered more than worth it, but this was not the time to dwell on that.

Bending the blade aside with his mighty grip, Waramoti used his free hand to smack up at the bottom of it, forcing the handle from Izumi's grip. Not even trying to resist the force that would have shattered her wrists, Izumi quickly retracted her hands, and so the greatsword was sent spinning high up in the air.

Without waiting for it to land, Waramoti continued to strike his palm at Izumi's abdomen with rib-shattering might. But, having already retreated a step, ready to react, Izumi diverted the blow, guided it aside with her hand, while turning sideways. Simultaneously, she lowered her posture, gripped his wrist, and pulled the man along with her.

Dragged by the added force of his own attack, Waramoti staggered forward a step.

As he leaned on, Izumi lifted her hips and kicked him in the face with her knee.

“Hn!”

The man reacted as if he had been hit with a pillow. The effect fell short of the desired, so Izumi followed up with an elbow strike on the bridge of his nose, but obviously without better results.

It was like hitting an anvil.

Unfazed, Waramoti tried to grab the woman’s neck with a swift sweep of his immense arm, but Izumi bowed deep forward to avoid it and then cartwheeled backward to escape the following kick. For once, she was glad for her shortened hair, which left the enemy less to get a hold of.

The Amygla came falling back, between the opponents.

Izumi reached out for it, but Waramoti quickly kicked up at her, forcing her to give up on the weapon again to evade. The handle of the sword hit the tip of his boot and so the blade was once again propelled high into the night sky.

Continuing to chain his attacks without delay, Waramoti turned around and aimed a wall-crushing back kick at Izumi. Turning sideways, pulling her stomach in, Izumi wove past the attack by a hair's breadth. She stepped in along his leg, grabbed a hold under his immense thigh, stepped on his grounded foot, and then cast him over it into the street.

Despite his hefty mass, Waramoti rolled nimbly back up, drenched by the muddy water coating the ground. Not quite quickly enough, however. During the fragments of a second she was out of his sight, Izumi crossed the gap, and sank another heavy knee kick directly into his solar plexus, the minuscule area under the sternum, where muscles didn’t protect him.

“Hnng,” the warrior let out a grunt and stiffened up. But his arms continued to move uninterrupted. He tried to pull his opponent into a cruel bear hug, which no doubt would have proven deadly. Izumi threw herself backward to evade it. Without hesitation, she dropped down onto the muddy street and aimed a kick up with both legs, at his groin. With commendable swiftness and agility, Waramoti stepped to the side to dodge.

The resulting distance allowed Izumi to bounce back up to her feet again.

The drenched, muddied opponents measured one another with their silent gazes.

One second, two seconds...Waramoti still didn't inhale.

He had the airs knocked out?

The paint was advertised to render the man invulnerable to all damage, but that didn’t quite appear to be the case. Strictly speaking, his body itself was not blue. The divine power only applied to the thin paint coating that veiled him, not his insides. It was no doubt the most powerful armor conceivable, but sufficient blunt force could still partially carry through the protective layer.

In other words, Waramoti's defense wasn't absolute...the discovery made Izumi's pulse quicken with competitive excitement.

I might actually have a shot…!

But just having a slight chance made success far from guaranteed.

Any ordinary man would've been down for the count, helplessly coughing and gasping for air. But even though he had been temporarily deprived of oxygen, Waramoti remained alert and ready. He masterfully contained his rage and frustration at the unexpectedly troublesome opponent, controlled even his body’s autonomous reflexes, and kept his guard up. Whether he knew pain or not, he allowed not a hint of it to show on his face. His dark eyes continued to watch Izumi with the calmness of a professional, waiting for the fatal opening to turn the tables.

Rather than a man, it was like fighting a statue.

Though it went without saying.

The strength of “Heaven's Hand” was by no means that of an average person—but neither was it all his own innate excellence or experience.

His ability as a combatant was further augmented by Lord Gwanlyn's blessing. Mental and physical fortitude akin to solid stone; silent strength that outlasted kingdoms...Slowly, the warrior forced the stiffened abdominal muscles to relax.

Izumi had to make the most of her opponent's temporary handicap.

Spying a flash of steel in the dark, she moved.

Dashing again at Waramoti, she caught the falling greatsword along the way and swung it down in a perpendicular line, aiming to cleave the blue-painted forehead in two. The enemy evaded by leaning his upper body deep left, like a dancer. Continuing to turn on her heels, Izumi’s hands flowed from one attack into another. Following the blade’s motion with his eyes, Waramoti deflected the waist-level cut with the back of his arm. Izumi withdrew a step and stabbed back without delay.

Again and again, she struck at her foe, aiming at his soft spots, his unpainted eyes, his joints, groin, and sides, to keep him moving, to prevent him from catching his breath. If only she could keep him from breathing for long enough to cloud his consciousness and land the final, debilitating blow, victory would surely be hers.

All in all, her effort was excellent.

But, nevertheless...little by little, Izumi’s hopes boiled down to nothing.

The opponent calmly received each and every one of her attacks with his bare hands, finally catching the Amygla by wrapping his long arm around the blade. With the weapon locked tightly under his armpit, steely bicep, and wrist, Izumi failed to withdraw it.

She was left stuck together with it.

Izumi had been effectively put in check—were she to let go of the sword, Waramoti would reclaim it and cut her down in a heartbeat. On the other hand, by keeping her hold, she was right within the reach of his murderous fingers.

“Tch...”

Check and mate, was it…?

Had Izumi calmly thought things through in advance, she might have perhaps realized the underlying flaw in her reckless tactic. Like an amateur, a gambling addict of the worst kind, she had been lured by the theoretical promise of victory, and ruined her chances with a careless miscalculation.

After all, the approach she had bet on was a fallacy from the get-go.

The last of the three, Lord Yubilea's blessing, the blessing of the festive fire that lifted people's spirits—This divine power enabled one to always attain their peak performance, regardless of the type of activity, regardless of all other conditions involved.

In short, even on the brink of unconsciousness, on the brink of death itself, so long as even the faintest spark of sentience remained in him, Waramoti could do battle just as well as when fully rested and fresh.

Battle of attrition—that is, any and all forms of combat relying on indirect measures to wear down the enemy—were completely ineffective against him.

Wasted.

Having bought himself all the time he needed, Waramoti slowly drew breath.

“...Your movements grow dull, woman.”

The many hours Izumi had poured into competitive game modes in her past world allowed her to recognize when the tide had turned against her. No, even before experience or intuition, her physical body informed her of it. While her opponent recovered, this pause enabled fatigue to catch up with her instead, lactic acid filling her burdened muscles, swiftly undoing the benefits of the initial rush of adrenaline.

Any suggestions of pushing the limits with sheer willpower were senseless.

The chances of victory were now zero.

To a casual observer, Izumi's usual reckless optimism might have seemed like the sort that came at the cost of denying reality. However, this was not the case. Her eyes had trained to spot opportunities, and she had confidence in her ability to make the most of those, that was all. One could say that the true source of her strength was not any technique or a skill, but that she knew herself inside out, simply put.

Just as well she could tell when all the opportunities were either exhausted or otherwise beyond her.

Izumi was a poor loser, but she wouldn't refuse facts, she accepted them upfront. In her past world, in the world of digital entertainment, this meant swiftly exiting the game before even looking at the final score, and throwing the controller into the wall.

So she did now as well—sans the bit about the controller.

Izumi tilted her head, to look past Waramoti’s shoulder and gasped.

“...What? What are you doing here!?”

“Hm?” Waramoti reflexively glanced back as well.

Of course, there was no one there.

—“Fell for it!”

Planting her foot on the warrior’s side in this brief moment of confusion, Izumi pulled the weapon from his hold with all her weight, as if to copy the famous legend about the sword in the stone.

Fortunately, rainwater eased the inertia, and she fell back onto the street a short distance away, with the greatsword in her embrace.

Her kick, of course, was without any noteworthy effect on her enemy. The opening was much too slim to allow for a comeback attack. In a blink of an eye, Waramoti turned back and raised his fists, ready to pummel her. But Izumi had no intention of continuing. Using her one second of freedom efficiently, she wrote a letter onto the puddle beside her and yelled,

“Brandt!”

The rune of ignition activated immediately.

All the water around it was instantly vaporized by the magically induced heat, veiling both of the combatants in a rapidly expanding burst of steam.

By the time the steam slowly cleared, pressed down by the ceaseless rain, Waramoti saw that he stood in the alley alone, his outstretched hands gripping only air. He looked in vain for the opponent’s tracks in the mud, which had already been trampled by countless feet today. The rain also muffled the sounds of the distancing footsteps that faintly echoed between the tightly spaced shanties. It would take a while before he could find a patrol to raise an alarm and block the slums’ exits. Imperial guards tended to avoid these parts.

In the end, considering all his options, the legendary warrior decided that a long, hot bath was vastly preferable to chasing dying criminals in the night and turned to head home, rubbing his jaw. The loss of the beautiful sword was bitter, yes, but he had a feeling it would be returned to him.

Soon.

2

Learning from Benjamin that the woman from the other world had gone to challenge the strongest man among men by herself, Court Wizard Carmelia spent a lengthy moment lost in silent reflection. There she stood like a painting, not moving a muscle, unable to hear or see anything.

No matter how long she lived among them, human stupidity never ceased to baffle her.

How could something so senseless even be real?

Was this peculiar sort of madness a characteristic unique to the life forms of the other world, or was it perhaps an underlying trait shared by human beings in every potential universe out there? It was as if their very God despised them and had cursed them to undo themselves in whatever self-destructive ways possible, which no outsider could ever hope to comprehend, let alone stop.

How then had humans been able to live for so long and imitate intelligent life to such a convincing degree? Was there some cunning intelligence lurking in them that avoided detection by disguising itself as lunacy? Was this lunacy then, in fact, an evolved survival instinct, a way of feigning superficial competence in an effort to intimidate the superior predators? Was in the summoned woman’s incomprehensible behavior the prime reason mankind had been able to survive to this day?

Or was it—Carmelia shuddered to think—just what it looked like, plain old idiocy, naivety, recklessness, and any semblance of intellect observed in the person had only been her own misunderstanding and wishful thinking?

Either way, it was hopeless.

With the Divine blessings in place, the confrontation between Izumi and Waramoti could only end one way.

Eventually recovering, the sorceress decided to leave this topic to another time, sent servants to search for the corpse, and retreated to the terrace garden. There she gazed out into the rainy night while wondering where exactly had she gone so wrong that all her plans, hundreds of years in the making, should end for such a random reason.

Death could come to anyone, at any moment, Carmelia knew as much.

There was nothing to lament about this simple, natural truth.

But even so, the events of the past days felt too ridiculous to be chalked up to mere luck or the lack thereof, work of impersonal chance. Was she, like the rest of her kind, still punished by some unseen force, for their arrogance so many ages ago?

Yes—perhaps it was none other than her people, who were hated by the Gods?

"Hm...?”

An hour later, Carmelia stirred from her melancholy.

Someone was in the garden.

This might have been the territory of a genuine sorceress, with numerous wards in place, but no magic whatsoever was required to sense a simple human presence.

The barrier warning of unlawful entry hadn't reacted. Whoever it was, they had to have a key. One such key Carmelia had given to the human woman, for when she should return from the Temple. The garden's back gate was a suitably secluded way into the palace, which one could access without having to deal with a host of guards.

Did this mean the key had ended up in Waramoti's hands now? Yet another tragic miscalculation.

Had the warrior figured out the mastermind pulling the assassin's strings and traced her steps back here? It was said that the man was a masterful hunter and never let his prey escape. Had he come for revenge then?

Carmelia had already resigned to her pitiful fate, when the dark figure of the intruder wobbled into view up the stairs.

It wasn't Heaven’s Hand.

“I'm home,” Izumi greeted the sorceress with a weary smile.

And then fell flat on her face on the lawn.

There she lied, under the rain, and didn’t move again.

Frowning, Carmelia approached the human, wondering if her eyes weren't deceiving her. No, it really was her. In the woman's grip was also a large sword, covered entirely in mud, like she was. She had to have dragged it across the city, exhausted though she was.

Or, was it simple exhaustion?

“You're...dying,” the sorceress observed the waning signs of life.

“Thought so,” Izumi powerlessly replied. “Haven’t felt this awful since I saw End of Evangelion. But I got the sword back. Ha.”

“What…?”

The woman had stolen her weapon back from Waramoti?

That was the reason she had gone out of her way to challenge him?

In a fight where escaping with her life would have been outrageous enough, she had...

Carmelia strode over to Izumi, grabbed her by the coat collar and lifted the woman up in the air like a stray cat. Whether male or female, warriors or learned, to the strength of a mature cirelo, one human was hardly a burden worth mentioning.

Forgetting her earlier depression in a flash, Carmelia’s mind was busy at work once again. Could the human still be saved? Her gaze peered through Izumi, through her mortal flesh and bone, searching for the cause to her weakening.

The woman's face was pale, heart pumping slow and weakly, her blood pressure dangerously low. But she was conscious. She didn't appear to be wounded or bleeding either, bones were intact. Whatever battle she had fought through was not the reason to her declined state.

Then what exactly was ailing her?

It had to be investigated closer.

When something eluded her understanding, Carmelia’s drive as a scholar compelled her to unravel the answer. That part of her hadn’t changed in the thousands of years she had lived. What she had on her hands was a mystery and she determined at once to solve it. Dragging Izumi along, Carmelia turned back towards the palace. There were a lot of stairs to climb, and the woman didn’t have the strength left to stand or walk. By her state, she was mere moments away from slipping into coma, followed by death within hours, by morning at latest. The sorceress opened a portal directly into the library and brought Izumi through it.

On the other side, young Benjamin Watts was absorbed in study.

“What in the—?” Seeing the Gate of Shadows, Benjamin jumped to his feet, stunned. “Carmelia? What are you…?”

Then he noticed Izumi in the sorceress's hold and fell silent.

“Clear the table,” Carmelia instructed him.

Benjamin swept the books off the library table and moved the candlesticks, allowing the sorceress to lift Izumi on it. It was not really a place fit for treating a patient, but there was no way they could take her to the palace ward either. Izumi being an escaped convict, many unnecessary questions would be asked, with other, more complicated problems to follow.

“Let go,” the sorceress wrung the muddy sword from Izumi's unwilling grip and absentmindedly tossed the weapon onto the floor. With unabashed hands, she then tore open the woman’s coat and shirt front.

“That's...going much too far on the first date...” Izumi mumbled, barely awake anymore.

“What the...?” Benjamin stared at the woman’s exposed midriff, past the sorceress and grimaced.

The flesh on Izumi's sides was badly bruised and darkened, with countless expanded veins starkly visible and stretching across her otherwise sickly pale form, like a toxic-looking webbing.

“What is that? Is this Waramoti’s doing...?” he asked.

“This is...” Carmelia's eyes widened as she examined the injuries. She gave Benjamin a quick, odd look, and asked, “Have you ever touched this woman?”

“What?” he raised his brows. “No? No, no way. Of course not. We're not in that kind of a relationship, gosh no. Personally, I prefer younger girls, I wouldn’t go along with just anybody, you know? Though I admit her body's fairly nice and well-preserved for her age and makes me see mature women in a whole different light, but ultimately...”

The look on Carmelia’s face was enough to silence him.

“Have you at any point been in physical contact with this person?” she reiterated with chilling clarity.

“N-no, I, I don't think so...She wouldn't even shake my hand—which I think is awfully rude—”

“Then leave the room. Immediately.”

Seeing that the magician wasn't joking, Benjamin fell silent and quickly left the library, closing the doors behind him.

“Hit me with the bad news, doc,” Izumi momentarily regained her senses to recognize Carmelia and asked. “Is it terminal?”

“Not many things more terminal exist,” Carmelia answered. “This condition is known as silen devehra among my people, or ‘touch of death'. It is not a conventional disease, but a curse unique to a certain monster. You have been wounded by a daemon. Your soul itself has become corrupted. Life retreats from you and your flesh rots as the effect advances. I cannot fathom how you are still alive. You should have died within hours of exposure. It appears that something is slowing the curse's progress in your body.”

“Lucky me, huh?” the woman forced a little laugh.

Carmelia stood still, unsure of what to do.

If the patient were of the aldervolk, a simple strengthening solution would have been enough to help her natural vitality combat the infection. The hit had to have been light, just a brush. While the injury was this mild, a robust warrior was likely to recover on her own.

But the victim in this case was a human. They had rarely had contact with the Enemy, and when they did, they would not last long enough to be treated.

Life was weak in them, their spirit sporadic and unfocused.

Were it anyone else, Carmelia would have had no choice but to euthanize the woman and have the corpse incinerated. No, it was the only correct course of action in any event. After all, if left be, there was a risk that she would eventually—But, perhaps it was still too soon.

The woman still lived, even two weeks after contamination.

It should have been impossible, but she did.

It was only after pushing herself to the physical limit that she had finally succumbed to the curse.

Did that change anything?

“Why?” In doubt, the sorceress asked. “The symptoms surely didn’t appear today or yesterday. You must have been in pain for weeks. Why did you try to hide it? Why did you agree to my request, knowing that you did not have much time left? You should have known success was beyond you.”

“I didn't know that...” Izumi slowly replied. “I thought I might get it done real quick, but this job sure snowballed out of hand fast. Ahaha. I honestly wanted to say no too. I thought I’d just die in that dungeon cell and be forgotten by everybody. That would’ve been the easiest way...”

“Then...what changed your mind? Why did you choose to even try?”

“What do you mean why?” the woman laughed weakly at the question. “You were...a gosh-darned adorable kitty, you know?”

Izumi passed out.

For a few heartbeats, Carmelia remained frozen before the patient. Then, she quickly turned and strode to her personal study. There, she approached an ornate cupboard in the very back of the otherwise plain room. There were no locks or handles on the carved cupboard doors, yet it would have been impossible for anyone else to access.

At Carmelia’s touch, a set of faint runes appeared hovering in the air, which she swiftly touched in the correct order to unlock her personal apothecary storage.

On its shelves were numerous little glass vials, bottles, and jars containing colorful liquids, dried leaves, fruits, and miscellaneous things of suspicious, exotic origins. These items weren’t of particular value to any human thief, but their loss would have been a severe setback anyhow, as none of them could be found on the continent of Noertia, at least not in their natural state.

Ignoring most of the storage, Carmelia took out a small, wooden box from the top shelf and opened the silvery hatch keeping it shut. Inside were indentations for eight small vials, of which only two remained. They were filled with vermilion liquid, of slightly cleaner and more vibrant hue than human blood. Here the sorceress hesitated again, but then took out one of the vials, before shoving the box back in and locking the cupboard.

She returned to the library where Izumi remained lying on the desk, unconscious.

Not quite dead yet. Most likely, she had passed out from the pain and fatigue. She occasionally shivered, as if terribly cold. To think she had gone off to challenge Waramoti in such a state, just to get the sword—she had to have been the greatest idiot in the world. How she hadn’t been killed in the warrior’s hands, it could only be considered a miracle.

Why had she done something so senseless—the sorceress grit her teeth at the answer.

It made her angry, angrier than she could recall feeling in a long while.

Sending others to their deaths was nothing new to Carmelia.

Soldiers and servants sacrificing themselves for her creed, it had happened so many times by now that she had grown wholly numbed to it.

But this woman hadn’t done it for any notion of greater good. Not out of a sense of duty.

Not for the world.

Not for the unity of the races.

Not for the survival of mankind.

Not even for her own personal gain.

Only for—

Because of such a meaningless thing, this fool…

Overcome with unusual frustration she didn’t know how to explain even to herself, Carmelia tore open the lid of the vial. Not a drop of the invaluable medicine could be wasted. She raised the vial to her lips and emptied it in her own mouth, then taking hold of the woman’s head. Raising Izumi’s chin slightly up and forcing the lips apart, Carmelia sealed those lips with her own, and carefully released the serum, making the patient ingest it all.

3

Izumi saw restless dreams. Dreams without shapes or colors. They were full of vague, harsh sensations of biting cold, wetness, darkness, and violent, featureless forces. Her whole form was being squeezed, pushed, pulled, torn, twisted, wrenched, and weighed down, without a moment’s rest.

Anger.

She was being boiled in a soup of pure hate.

It was wordlessly telling her to stop living.

It went without saying—no being alive could hope to endure such animosity.

At any moment, her very spirit was surely going to break apart.

And then she would die.

Die.

Die. Die. Die.

Die and disappear.

Of her life on Ortho, nothing would be left.

Not even a memory. Not a soul would recall that she had ever lived—

Right as Izumi thought she could withstand it no more, a gentle warmth started to slowly circulate in her and the nauseating motion stilled. How peaceful and pleasant it felt, just to be still. The darkness was replaced by a pure, gentle light, the light of a new dawn, and to that dawn she abruptly opened her eyes.

Izumi found herself in the bed prepared for her at Carmelia’s keep, in a small room facing west. She slowly sat up, rubbing her stomach, and gazed out of a large window left from the bed. The rain had stopped. The new morning was somewhat cloudy, but still bright. The scent of wet pavement filled her nostrils, drifting from somewhere below.

Remaining dazed, Izumi tried to gather her mixed thoughts. What had happened after her fight with Waramoti, she only remembered in detached, tattered fragments. Like it was only an old movie.

“It...doesn’t hurt anymore?” she muttered.

“I should hope so,” a voice nearby spoke. Izumi turned her head right and saw the black-clad Court Wizard sitting in a chair by the bed. “It was not the cheapest mead you were resuscitated with.”

“Eh? You...saved me?” Izumi asked, a bit surprised.

“Relena talaanth, the Red Serum,” Carmelia explained, “one of the most potent restorative medicines ever conceived. Eight vials I had with me as I departed from the havens of Tar-Elyssea. Six I’ve used over my years in exile. Now, only one remains. Thank the Divines, I did not need them all.”

“Um, I’ll pay you back, okay?” Izumi proposed. “In installments, preferably, seeing as I’m presently broke.”

“The medicine's value cannot be measured in silver or gold,” the sorceress told her. “The shop which gifted it to me now gathers dust, abandoned, along the ruined central street of Ostgonnoth. The pharmacist himself deceased, the formula lost with him, eight centuries ago.”

“W-well, that’s a real shame! You don’t suppose there’s a way to, I don’t know, reverse-engineer it or something? Whatever it is that the smart chemists do. It’s no problem at all for someone of your talents, right?”

“I have a fairly good grasp of the elixir's composition, yes,” Carmelia replied. “After all, I wasted three vials to learn it. But I can tell you that the wheat, rye, and barley you humans fill your fields with are not among the required ingredients.”

“As much as I hate fetch quests and skip them whenever possible, I might make an exception this once. Since it really seems like a handy juice to have.”

“Don’t bother,” the cirelo shook her head. “Only daemons roam the plains where those flowers grow now. That aside, tell me, how do you feel?”

“Hmm...”

In truth, Izumi felt a bit odd.

Oddly light.

She had grown accustomed to some place aching or being numb, stiff, painful, or otherwise out of order. Now, for the first time in years, she felt very nearly “normal”, which was rather unnerving on its own. No, the sensation couldn’t really be called strictly “normal” either. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but an unusual one.

Izumi felt her face. There were no mirrors in her room, but her face felt mostly familiar. Then, she looked down and immediately saw that something was indeed deeply amiss.

“Gah!”

“Hm? What is wrong?” Carmelia asked.

“What is wrong!?” Izumi hollered. “Why, my—my chest! What’s happened to my chest! My cup size has shrank by at least one big letter! Maybe even two! What’s going on? This is a dream, isn’t it? Please tell me this is only a dream, a nightmare!”

“That would mostly be due to loss of weight,” the sorceress said. “However, it does seem like your physique has slightly...deaged. This is quite the surprise. No human has ever ingested the Red Serum before, so I was curious to see what effects it would have. The human body is more malleable than ours by nature, so the strength of the effect exceeded my expectations. Before simply rejuvenated, it could be said you were ‘reverted’. I’ll be sure to make note of this.”

“What am I, a guinea pig to your experiments?” the woman protested. “How terrible! At this rate, Yule’s going to surpass me before I know it! Thank goodness they lost the recipe! Don’t ever make me chug something so awful again! What if I turned flat as a surfboard! My only clearly feminine asset would be lost and nobody would be able to recognize me as a woman anymore! It may sound vain but I happen to be pretty happy with my shapeliness. It was my only comfort in the lonely nights of the past...”

“Don’t you think your life is more valuable than those superfluous lumps of fat? Now, if you are quite done with this meaningless tirade, I have other questions—”

“It’s not meaningless to me! Now I see what this is about! You didn’t want to be left inferior to a mere human, so you plotted to level the playground with your vile concoctions! It was Lia’s terrible scheme all along! How terrible! I put my life in your hands and this is what I get for thanks?”

“Interrupt me again and you will not recognize your reflection by tomorrow,” Carmelia told the woman with a scowl. “Be quiet and listen to me.”

Although she still had complaints, Izumi obediently shut up.

“I took a sample of your blood and hair, and discovered various anomalous components,” the sorceress said. “Some of these materials are directly interfering with the function of your cells. Exactly what manner of substances have you been ingesting? Or are these past effects from your original world?”

“Um, that’s probably...”

Izumi went on to summarize the story about the Felorn expedition two weeks prior, up to the discovery of the "spring of everlasting youth".

Not youth or immortality but simply stilted growth—the water from the forbidden pond preserved her cells at the cost of her body’s regenerative properties. If her flesh couldn’t ever degrade, it couldn’t be renewed either by natural means, leaving magic and drugs as her only aid in the event of a serious injury.

The sorceress listened to her tale in silence until the conclusion.

“I see, Cinthardia sap...” Carmelia mumbled, touching her chin. “Long ago, they used to make mead of its flowers, which was said to help one’s love life blossom...Ahem, I had no idea the species grew in Noertia, or that it had such effects on the human biology. Wind has to have carried the seeds across the sea. This explains a great many things. Your stilled metabolism could be the reason to the unusually slow progress of silen devehra’s symptoms. Regardless of the state of your soul, your cells are quite unable to die. Now that relena taalanth has restored your form, the threat should be no more.”

“Well, I’m half grateful for that,” Izumi reluctantly said. “Just to be sure, the miracle drug’s not working anymore, is it? I won’t go back to being a toddler, will I?”

“I need to conduct more tests,” the sorceress said without giving a direct answer. “Do not leave the palace today.”

Continuing to mumble some ominous things under her breath, the Court Wizard stood up and wandered out of the room.

“No matter how old or prestigious, she’s still a geek inside, huh?” Izumi noted, slightly worried for her future well-being.

Left alone in the room, Izumi continued to stare outside the window. This unusual pause gave her a lot to think about. Or more like, forced her to confront the issues she had been avoiding for too long. There had been many life-threatening situations along the way, but this was definitely the closest she had been to dying since the day she was summoned.

What would happen, if she did?

Not once had she actually spared her own death a thought.

Because that thought was, even to Izumi, deeply unnerving.

Would she be brought back to life again, like in a video game, reverted back to the previous checkpoint and forced to correct her mistakes? Would she go to some local version of Heaven, or Valhalla, or Underworld, or some other type of spiritual realm, where new experiences awaited her?

Or would it simply be the end, an infinite abyss where perfect nothingness awaited?

An oblivion where she would forget she ever existed, like the one she was very nearly dragged into?

Or…

Izumi thought about the worst case scenario.

The one fate worse than true death.

What if—after dying, she would simply open her eyes back in her own bed again, on Earth, forced to face another ordinary day with no magic, no miracles, no elves, no ancient swords, no warriors, no empires, and no princesses.

“...I suppose I should take better care of this life from now on,” Izumi muttered, before laying back down and returning to sleep.

Chapter 5: The Knight Princess's Will is Tested

1

The dawn of a new day. Sun shining brightly in the blue sky beyond the spires of Selenoreion, and the high-pitched cries of swallows overhead, as they swooped over the terrace in their ceaseless hunt for sustenance.

Once again, breakfast service had been prepared for two in the north-western garden of the palace. Again today, the Emperor of Tratovia had requested Yuliana to keep him company. Wondering if it was going to become a daily habit, the princess took her seat at the end of the lengthy table opposite of his majesty, while one of the maids poured her a cup of red tea.

Today, Yuliana felt like a different person completely from yesterday.

Izumi was safe; one major source of concern had been removed. The effect on her confidence was tremendous.

That was one less way for the Emperor to extort the princess. Yesterday, his majesty had taken the lead in the conversation, catching Yuliana off-guard with his unexpected approach, but she had recovered and gathered her courage since then.

From here, she would begin her counterattack.

There would be no war. No concessions. No plots, schemes, blackmail, or deception. Henceforth, only reason would speak, for the common good. She wouldn’t give in, even if her opponent was the most influential man on the continent. One way or the other, she would make him see wisdom.

“Did you sleep well, your highness?” the Emperor asked in a light tone, sipping his tea. He appeared to be in a good mood, his shoulder relaxed, resting his back on the support of the sturdy antique chair.

“I did, thank you,” Yuliana answered.

“Good. While you are something of a prisoner of mine, in a sense, it is not my desire to make you feel as one. If there is anything you wish for, to make your time pass easier, I will arrange for it. So long as it is within my power, naturally. I only ask that you do not overestimate this power, for my judges are many and ever present.”

“I understand, and I try not to ask for much,” she answered. “Only that you do not ask any more of me in return.”

“An excellent answer,” he nodded. “It appears you are as the stories I have heard of you describe: ‘blessed with beauty, matched only by her wit.’”

“I did not expect such flattery from you, your majesty,” Yuliana replied, without a smile.

“Oh, I would flatter you a thousand times more,” the Emperor replied, “but my regrettable duty is to demand better of us both. I would like to hear your answer to the request I presented to you in this very place yesterday, princess Yuliana Da Via Brannan. Will you negotiate with your father at my behest? Will you acquire for me access to the southern harbors of your land and the King’s consent? Will you help spare us all of the bloodiest war this land has seen in ages?”

Yuliana straightened her posture and forced herself to look back into the Emperor’s deep blue eyes, before giving her decided response,

“I cannot.”

To that, the Emperor said nothing.

Like a still image he remained, not even blinking.

Yuliana took this silence as a chance to explain her reasoning,

“What you ask of me is simply not something that is possible to me. As I have told you, my father does not value my opinions, he never has, and will not listen to anything I say. You do not know him as I do. A princess I may be in title, but I hold as much political power in the court of my fatherland as any plain handmaid would. I cannot promise to you that which is beyond me, no matter what is at stake. Personally, I must also express my discontent with your plan of operations. We cannot hope to conquer the lost continent with military force. Our enemy is far beyond our caliber. The elves could not do it, not the devians, not the cruleans, and they each outrank us as well. And we do not have such time either. No, I believe there are better ways. Before numbers, we ought to favor speed in our quest. We could assemble a small, specialized force, which will be able to travel across the continent, along the shortest route possible, directly to the Trophaeum, to seize it on the Night of the Covenant. That is our only option, I believe, a focused effort. I am prepared to join this quest myself, be it under the Imperial banner or anyone else’s. There is no need for war, and no—”

—“Tomorrow...”

The princess fell silent mid-sentence, seeing the Emperor rub the bridge of his nose with a tired frown, no longer even listening.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, “at daybreak, Colonel Miragrave Estheria Marafel will be executed.”

“What——?”

All the heated activity in Yuliana’s head came to a sudden stop.

For a moment, all she heard was her own pulse, and the humming of blood in her ears.

“For the crime of conspiring against the Imperial Throne,” the Emperor said, “the Colonel is to burn at the stake until death. So has been decided.”

Color returning to her face, Yuliana bounced up, slamming her palms on the table,

“Why are you threatening me!?” she shouted at him. “What do you hope to gain by doing this? I’ve told you, what’s impossible is impossible!”

“Do not misunderstand me, your highness,” the man calmly explained. “I am not the judge nor the jury in this land, far from the executioner. The Board of Generals wants the Colonel gone, and she has given them an excuse too good to pass up on, that is all. I cannot arbitrarily overrule the verdict, lest I make her enemies my enemies also. Not unless I have something to appease them with. Something of such tremendous importance that it will make one soldier's pardon seem a mere trifle on the side. Such as an armistice and the right of passage to Langoria.”

“That’s not—”

“Life is an endless series of trades, your highness,” he sternly continued over Yuliana’s frail opposition. “Whether you are a peasant or a king, all that changes is the value of transactions. At our level, cities and kingdoms have become our currency. Human lives are saved and lost upon each move we make. It is inescapable. Where will you win, where will you lose, who will you save, who will you kill...It is a merciless earth we tread, for at all turns it calls for blood to nourish it. The option to share happiness with everyone equally simply does not exist for us. For despite our noble heritage, we remain only human. The more you struggle against this grim truth with heavy-handed idealism, the more painful the cost you must pay at the end of the day. Do I want to see my servant and faithful subject die in a fire? I do not. Do I want to go to war with Langoria and her people? I do not. But I am not a God, your highness. Nor is my will the will of my people. I want to save the world but my generals cannot be content with merely a beautiful dream. If there is to be life on Ortho after the Night of the Covenant, then I must be the one to tell my citizens how that life will continue thereon. Even if you and I go selflessly sacrifice ourselves in the land of daemons for the common good of our peoples, there is no value in our efforts to those who know nothing of them.”

“I...”

“For the Empire of Tratovia, the future is in Langoria. It is in Luctretz, in Cotlann, in Melgier, in Alderia. In continued expansion and the prosperity gained through it. Unless a man has coin to give, he will not be given bread in exchange. Unless I give my people progress and wealth, they will not give me even a plate to eat my bread on, let alone a chance to save their lives. No, they will take everything I am, all that I have, wipe away what I represent from the pages of history. There, your highness, are our judges, jury, and our all too willing executioners too. Right outside those tall yet painfully ephemeral walls.”

The Emperor waved his hand in the city’s general direction, then half-heartedly wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood,

“I am disappointed by your answer, your highness. You insist your father to be adamant as bedrock, yet expect my heart to yield like a strand of weed instead. I’d heard you were more than your looks, yet I see now that you continue to remain a dreamer, a child, even as the curtain is pulled on our world.”

Without saying any more, the man strode out of the garden, his servants hurrying after him. Left seated by herself, stupefied, Yuliana looked over the cityscape in the west, unable to see the buildings through her tears.

2

Time passed, the sun swiftly rose, and as Izumi felt more bored than unwell, she got dressed and strolled around the keep to waste time. There were obviously only a few places where she could go, to avoid being seen by palace servants or guards, so she eventually took shelter in the secluded library hall again.

There, she once again found the other sheltered human, Benjamin, absorbed in reading, as appeared to be his usual habit. Izumi could only envy his seemingly boundless thirst for knowledge.

“Oh!” the young man greeted her with a surprised look. “You’re alive! Good morning, Izumi, my friend! Boy, am I glad to see you up and about! I was already certain last night was going to be the last I’d ever see of you. The look on Carmelia’s face...I thought my heart was going to stop. Um...Are you quite sure you should be walking around yet?”

“I’m fine,” Izumi said. “At least, until whatever the doc's cooking up next is done.”

“Ahaha, don’t worry, the lady knows what she’s doing,” he laughed. “Most of the time, anyway. A few prisoners got one heck of a diarrhea last month after her potion experiments, but nothing worse than that. At least she’s not boiling children alive in that pot of hers. I reckon that wouldn’t make her very popular at the court...A ‘fallen’ elf or not, they do value people’s lives. Or, well, lives in general. Not strictly people’s...you get what I’m saying. But, is it just me, or do you look different today? Refreshed, somehow? Very...very nice.”

“What’s that you’re reading there?” Izumi ignored his gawking and looked at the ominous, black-covered notebook on the young man’s hands.

“Oh, this? It’s a study. On daemons.” Benjamin lifted the book and showed Izumi the spread he had been at. On the left-hand page, a charcoal illustration had been drawn, of a rather disturbing creature. “Do they really look like this? The portrait was supposedly drawn by a witness, but I wouldn't know.”

“More or less,” Izumi said, looking away.

“Silen devehra...You are the first human to have fought a daemon and lived, and now you’re also the first human to have survived being infected by the Touch of Death. You truly are a pioneer, eh!”

“I wouldn’t have minded letting someone else have the honor, though. Not a very pleasant experience.”

“Pleasant or not, acquiring knowledge is always a thing to rejoice for,” the man said. “Have a look at this book. After the Empire started collaborating with the Ledarnian colony, we also gained access to the information the cirelo have compiled over the centuries. Their accounts and observations, records of a forgotten war hardly anyone alive on Noertia has even heard of. Only a handful of people in the world know what we know, Izumi. And knowledge is power.”

“What do we know, really?” Izumi asked.

“A great deal,” Benjamin leafed through the pages. “Listen to this. In the beginning, it was assumed that daemons were like insects. You know, ants or bees or such. The elves speculated that they built nests, great underground hives, where there were queens, workers, warriors, and so forth. Numerous dangerous missions were carried out deep into the remote, most hostile corners of the lost continent, to locate those hives and eliminate the hives and the queens therein. They thought that would end the war. So what did they find? What do you think?”

The youth looked up at Izumi through his thick-rimmed glasses.

“I take it they found no success, at least,” she answered.

“Nothing,” he answered. “They found absolutely nothing. Daemons don’t build homes. They’re nomadic. There are no castes or classes or other specializations among them. Each of them looks indistinguishable from the others in their natural state. Like mere copies. There are no distinct males or females, no elderly, no offsprings either. They have no nests, they don’t lay eggs, they don't pollinate. So how exactly do they reproduce? They were rare at the beginning of the current cycle, and those few that were seen tended to avoid contact. And then, there were suddenly hundreds everywhere, thousands, enough to uproot the entire elven civilization. The question everyone’s been asking for eight long centuries since—how did it happen and why? Do they just pop out of thin air, like goti? Are they born from the earth, shaped out of clay? Well, even today, no one really knows for sure. As you can imagine, observing those creatures, even from a distance, is incredibly dangerous. Elves have good eyesight, but...It’s like those things have a sixth sense instead. They know when someone’s looking, and they’re too darned smart. But there’s a theory. Many theories, actually, but I strongly feel this could be the answer to the big question. The way Carmelia dodges the topic makes me think I might be onto something.”

“What is it then?” Izumi tilted her head.

“Silen devehra,” Benjamin pronounced after a theatrical pause. “Everyone assumed that daemons were biological entities, but perhaps the whole concept was mistaken from the get-go? Perhaps they were never organic life forms, but spiritual ones? And there’s the answer to how they multiply. Touch of Death corrupts the very soul of any person wounded by a daemon, but what happens to the victim? Perhaps they don’t simply die of the ailment? No. They definitely do die...and are then reborn. As one of them.”

Izumi said nothing. She shuddered. She couldn’t be sure if she shuddered because of the theory, or because of the enthusiastic gleam in Benjamin’s eyes as he presented his terrible thesis. As if it were something wonderful and uplifting.

“A war where the casualties join the enemy,” the youth went on. “They don’t simply take lives, they rob their victims of their very identity. It’s the vilest, most despicable creature you can imagine, as if created out of pure spite towards life itself. Everything they touch, they turn into evil mockery of its past self. And yet, there’s also certain beauty to them.”

“Beauty?”

“Daemons have no language of their own, but no in-fighting has ever been observed among them. They co-exist in harmony, hunt in perfect unison. As if they were indeed one. It’s speculated that they have a sort of a collective consciousness, which allows one entity to share the knowledge and abilities of the rest. Everything they learn, about us, about the world, gets instantaneously shared with the whole community. They don’t need words, as they can tell what the others are thinking via telepathy. In such a system, words would only be a hindrance.”

“If that’s true, it would make things pretty bad for us,” Izumi shrugged. “How are we even supposed to beat them?”

“Yes,” Benjamin nodded. “They seem almost too perfect to be real. How could one race exert such superiority over the others, despite their apparent novelty on the pages of natural history? Now that is an excellent question. You know, maybe there’s a reason for that as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, listen very close,” the young man brought his voice down. “This is kind of a controversial theory and it could get me hanged as a heretic or worse, if the word were to spread. But, I personally believe that—”

Ka-dong!

At that moment, the library doors were abruptly opened with a resounding noise, and Benjamin stopped what he was about to say.

Carmelia’s dark-clad figure entered the hall. She wasn’t a particularly expressive person by nature, but over the course of the past few days, Izumi had learned to read the subtle changes in her demeanor. Although, in this case, the sorceress’s darkened look was not particularly difficult to interpret. Indeed, the Court Wizard shortly fixed her grim gaze at Izumi, confirming her suspicions.

“I have bad news.”

3

In the familiar apartment complex along Donethal’s avenue, the silence of a certain Imperial Colonel’s study was interrupted by a knock on the door. Shortly after, an aged female servant timidly entered, a silvery tray on her hands.

“Madam...I have brought your breakfast...” she announced in a wavering voice.

The maid, hired on the very day the young mistress had moved in, was part startled, part relieved to find her employer awake and upright. The resident’s past days' rapid decline in morale—and the consumption rate of alcoholic beverages—had been deeply disconcerting, and the maid feared she would soon find herself unemployed.

Serving a persona non grata looked bad enough on the resume already, a dead mistress would be worse. It would not be easy to find a new occupation—not when old age was starting to become a demerit too.

However, the relief brought by the mistress's improved state and form was short-lived. For some reason, the Colonel was dressed in her old uniform, as if about to head out to work. The news of her dishonorable discharge had spread fast, and this otherwise mundane scene now bore disturbing implications. Most likely, a tragic episode of drunken stupor.

However, the impression was somewhat mistaken.

“Thank you, Madeleine,” Miragrave Marfel told the maid in a sober tone, with not much emotion in it, not turning away from the window she was facing as she pulled on her riding gloves. “But I won’t need it.”

“Madam...?”

“Thank you, for these years you’ve served me,” the Colonel continued. “I'd reward you with something suitable for the occasion, but I believe you have already appropriated everything you've deemed to be of value in my house. The things you thought I wouldn't miss, anyway. Don't take it the wrong way. If there was indeed anything I missed, I would have asked to have it back.”

“W-why, milady...?” the maid, Madeleine, was getting increasingly anxious. “Why do you speak as though you are dismissing me...? H-have I upset you, by chance? W-was it the spoons? Or the brandy your honorable father sent you? You were away at the time and not expected to return for some months, I—I did not wish for it to fall into wrong hands...”

“Rest easy,” Miragrave shook her head. “It is not my own wish to dismiss you, as much as it is a practical necessity. For when I step outside this house next, I do so without expecting to return, and you will no longer have a master.”

“But...W-where do you mean to go, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I cannot answer you. For I do not know it myself. Where do we go, Madeleine? Where do we humans go? Where do emiri? Where does anyone? To another world? To another future? Or nowhere at all?”

Miragrave said no more, turned, and crouched to pick up her sword from the floor. Fastening it to her belt, she marched past the maid, out into the corridor and down the stairs.

“Divines help me...” Madeleine lamented and took the tray back to the kitchen.

For someone who had been virtually born a soldier, simply walking down the stairs and leaving her apartment after being ordered into confinement was nothing short of an act of rebellion.

That's right—Miragrave thought not of escape.

This was her personal rebellion. A protest.

There was a clear distinction there, at least in her own mind.

Even now, as evidenced by the uniform she bore without shame, she considered herself as acting in the best interests of her fatherland. Not for her own safety or benefit, but because she felt this was the best way to further the Empire's interests, and the greater good of the general public.

Sometimes orders had to be defied for the sake of justice.

Never before had such a situation occurred to her, but now was the time, if ever.

Inactivity wouldn’t help anyone. If there was anything she could do to restore the honor of the Empire she believed in, it was by using the time she had left by working for it.

Not that Miragrave held anything like “hope” in her heart. She estimated her chances of achieving anything worthwhile as meager at best. Surely no one would follow her example. She was in this alone—and that was fine. It was not so much about the results as it was about effort. Principles. Rather than obediently withering away, she was going to die standing up for her country.

That was the only way she could allow herself to go out, as a soldier.

Since Miragrave felt no hope, neither could she feel disappointment in the loss of it—or so she had thought.

Nevertheless, at the moment she opened the front door and stepped outside into the narrow front yard, her already severe countenance turned a degree darker still.

Having to deal with the two guards posted at the entrance was already something she had expected with a heavy heart, but the reality awaiting her was far worse.

Worse than anyone could have foreseen.

In the middle of the yard, accompanied by two more guards, was a strange-looking man in a black leather armor, apparently on his way in. In the grip of his right hand, the man carried a long, slim spear much different from the guards’ elaborate halberds. His helmet-less head was adorned with deep blue pearls on strands of his dark hair, as well as a single, great feather of a foreign bird called Zuú.

Anyone with wanting courage would have struggled to keep their composure before the sharp gaze of that man’s eyes. At the mention of his name, the remains of said composure would no doubt be decisively obliterated.

The name was Shivgried—and the man one whom they also called the Impaler.

Before gaining the sinister moniker and being promoted to the Guild of Tratovia’s Heroes, he had been called Zaxon Shivgried, an officer of the Imperial Foreign Legion, hailing from the remote province of Tulfakar. He had advanced as far as the special forces due to his natural excellence in combat. During the brief campaign against the mountainfolk of the north, he had acquired the cursed spear Lanhglid, said to pierce through any defense, the source of his gross title.

That legend had taken a difficult blow some days ago.

Lanhglid’s spell had been repelled by the Langorian greatsword.

Fortunately, the witnesses of this marvel were few—and Shivgried was determined to keep it so.

“My, leaving so soon?”

The man recovered from his brief surprise, caused by Miragrave's appearance in the doorway. His lips soon contorted into a twisted grin, as he presumed to have seen through her intentions, and he spread his arms wide, as if to warmly receive her.

It was only now that the two guards at the door realized the prisoner had stepped out, and they looked like two hares caught between a forest fire and a dragon.

“Zaxon,” Miragrave met the warrior with a scowl. “They say you are a man with the talent to be in the right place at the right time. I am compelled to disagree.”

“I imagine that you would,” he replied. “But fault me not for my luck. Is a man to be blamed for the destiny that moves him? As much as I enjoy the sight of you, Marafel, I am not here of my own volition today, but merely as the humble instrument of his majesty's will. A duty not entirely displeasing, for once.”

“So the time has come.” The Colonel stepped down the stairs from the door. “His majesty has decided to claim my head.”

Shivgried took a step forward as well.

“It has,” he said. “'Death to the enemies of the Empire'. How many have fallen for those words? How many gallons of blood has been spilled, how far and wide? And how much of it in vain, only to satisfy the greed of pompous old men in their glum halls of stone? For all its worth, I would prefer to see your head where it belongs.”

“What is it worth, Zaxon?” Miragrave snorted. “What is a man worth, when he hides his lust in the shadow of a tyrant? Is he sustained by the honor and duty that belong to a soldier? No, you have no such redeeming qualities. You traded them all away for ‘glory’, for recognition, for personal gain. How vain. Before the hero you saw yourself as, you were reduced to a mere murderer-for-hire. Enough. I’ve made my peace. Take me away.”

At her words, the warrior burst into cold laughter.

“Hahaha! You never change, Marafel!” he said. “I sold my honor? And where would I be, if I hadn’t? I could be in your shoes, discredited and forsaken. Thrown away, like a used-up arbalest! No. Certainly, to the people, I am a hero! Rather than upholding the law, I have become the law itself. Could you have ever imagined our roles traded in such a way? What has your knight’s honor ever brought you, foolish woman? Look at you. You insist to remain a patriot to the bitter end, a soldier to a lord you despise. Your idea of fighting back is distilled to a powerless look of disapproval as you step up to the block of your own will. Wake up. Your noble conviction changes no hearts in this corrupt land.”

“Do you dream of becoming a politician or why do you speak like one?” she retorted and stopped. “My power is inadequate to change the world, yes. But neither will the world change my mind again. That is enough for me. At least I am conscious of facts, and devoid of empty visions of grandeur.”

Not saying anything, Shivgried proceeded to walk around the woman, rubbing his jaw in contemplation.

“Do not be that way, Marafel,” he said. “You should not be like this. Being a fatalist ill suits a woman of your brilliance. Bending your fair neck before justice you know is immoral and unfair, simply because of fleeting things like honor and duty...You are capable of much more than this.”

“What do you want, Zaxon?” the Colonel's gaze sharpened. “I do not walk this path only to meet whatever dreams you have of me.”

“I am telling you, you're not ambitious enough. Never were.” Leaning closer, Shivgried whispered to her, “So let me become your savior now, sister-in-arms.”

The sideways glare she returned him made the man pull away.

“I have the power,” he resumed out loud, filled with confidence. “I am one of the Guild now. Not a simple dog of war, but a Champion of the Throne. I can peel you even from his majesty's unforgiving grip. Verily, it may well be that his majesty will be our majesty for not much longer. There are elements out there that strongly feel so.”

The soldiers nearby shifted uncomfortably at his treacherous words. Shivgried disregarded them, his eyes only at Miragrave, as he continued,

“I dare say our interests align on this matter. Or am I mistaken?”

“I suspect you do not offer me a helping hand out of the kindness of your heart?” she asked.

“But I do. There could be no other reason,” Shivgried answered with a shrug. “A hand I am indeed offering you, to be taken and held, and never let go. Become my woman, Marafel. It is quite as simple as that.”

“Is this your idea of comedy?” Her gaze narrowed.

“Far from it. For you alone, my spear would impale even the Obsidian Throne. You will be a shunned traitor no more, not a mere soldier, a grunt, a lowly servant, or anything boorish and humiliating like that. Nay, you shall be the queen you were destined to be, of the new empire that will rise from the ashes of the old.”

“I refuse,” Miragrave gave her immediate answer and stepped past him.

“You would rather let Raleigh have you then!?” Shivgried shouted after her, a sudden fit of anger amplifying his voice. “You will burn, in disgrace, before the eyes of the people you swore to protect, of your faithful soldiers, and that will be the last memory they’ll have of you! Not how honorable and gallant you were in life but only your helpless screams of agony as your flesh boils and skin is peeled! That will be all that history remembers of Miragrave Marafel! Think your father will endure it? I’ll be sure to describe it to him afterwards, in great detail. How the daughter that made him so proud once threw away her dignity out of terror, and begged in tears for mercy in her final moments! Think his heart can take it?”

Slowly, Miragrave turned around.

Her face was pale but her gaze unbending, like tempered steel.

“For years, I awaited my death, Zaxon,” she said. “I counted the days, the very hours, until living itself became agony. And finally, it did come for me. I faced my end on the field outside Varnam—and it took me not. You think whatever generic terrors you can come up with compare with the abyss I’ve stared into? No, I greet your lukewarm flames with the fondness of an old friend.”

Saying no more, she stepped on, to be escorted away by the guards. Shivgried spat, gave the cowering guards at the house entrance a misplaced glare, and then followed after the convict.

4

As soon as she was alone and back in her lofty tower quarters, princess Yuliana took out the slim metal chain she had been given by the mysterious visitor yesterday, and wrapped it around her left wrist. Closing her eyes, she did her best to gather her rattled focus. The princess had beheld a few enchanted items of similar effects before, although none of them had seemed quite as refined as this one.

“Can you hear me?” Deeming her concentration sufficient and the channel opened, she voiced a question. And, soon enough, another person’s surprised voice sounded in her mind, similarly to Aiwesh’s sparse spiritual communications.

The voice clearly belonged to the young man Yuliana had met before, confirmed by an accompanying, vague sense of presence, as though they had suddenly been brought to the same room.

“Oh, your highness? What’s wrong?” Benjamin’s voice asked.

Maintaining her composure with effort, Yuliana quickly summarized the crux of the matter,

“My master...Colonel Marafel, I’ve heard she’s about to be executed tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes, we’re aware of the situation,” the young man responded in a regretful tone. “It seems the paperwork was put underway as soon as the news of her return reached the headquarters. A law on war time exceptions was enacted to bypass the trial and she was sentenced early this morning by a majority vote...”

—“We have to do something to help her!” Yuliana impatiently interrupted him.

“We? We who?” his voice helplessly retorted. “Not a whole lot can be done! With a person of Marafel’s rank and the questionable nature of the verdict, the security levels at the execution site will be exceptionally high. In fact, even the location hasn’t been disclosed yet. The Colonel was quite popular with her troops, the officers fear her execution might inspire open unrest, even a mutiny among the knights, so they’ve taken measures to prepare. We’d need an army to mount a rescue attempt, and even then, it would be difficult to extract the Colonel alive. And only the Emperor himself would have the authority to overturn the verdict by legal means...”

“So you’re telling me we’re going to have to let her die!?” the princess lost her self-restraint and yelled. “I can’t! There’s got to be a way!”

“Even if you say that...” Benjamin thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Have you tried to appeal to his majesty?”

“Appeal...?”

“Yes. He really is our best bet at the moment, as far as I can see. At the very least, he can delay the execution and buy us more time until we can come up with a proper plan. I can really think of nothing else right now.”

“The Emperor...” Yuliana muttered, not very pleased by the idea.

“Do you think there is any way you could negotiate with him?” Benjamin suggested. “Perhaps there are some compromises you could make to bring him to our side? What does he want? What does he fear? I don’t know, I’m just throwing ideas. Whatever it is, it has to be soon. We’re seriously running out of time.”

“But I—”

“The chain’s power is rapidly depleted. We should save some for an emergency. There’s not much else I can tell you at the moment. We’re doing all we can over here, but I believe you’re the one of us with the best chance of helping the Colonel. I’m sorry. Take care!”

Benjamin’s voice disappeared.

Yuliana sensed the contact fade and the flow of magical energy in the chain stabilized, somewhat reduced. Again, she was left in silence by herself, with regrettably few results, and just as little in terms of hope.

No one would be able to lend her a hand in this dire situation...What had she even made the contact for? What had she expected the youth to do? The answer was too silly to even be voiced. Of course, she had secretly wished that whoever the powerful figure behind that odd man was, they would be able to achieve the impossible, only because she asked.

So that she alone would be freed from any painful decisions.

How naive! I’m even willing to depend on strangers? Is my spirit truly this feeble...?

Yuliana couldn’t keep running away from her responsibilities, she knew it.

The life of a monarch was that of making compromises, as she had been told.

No matter far away she was from home, she couldn't escape being a princess.

So long as she refused to give in at anything, so long as she only kept demanding, dreaming, and shunning responsibility, she was no better than any sheltered royal child.

The life of her dear mentor was on the line...If Miragrave was killed, it would be on Yuliana. Why did she have to provoke the Emperor?

Taking a deep breath, the princess made up her mind. She walked to the bell hanging near the doorway, the bell connected to the servants’ quarters, and rang it.

5

Once again, three eccentric figures gathered around the long library table in the seclusive keep, wearing serious faces. Spread between them was a map of the vast city, detailing the districts near the western border of Eskeleion.

“So Mira-rin’s going to be killed...” Izumi furrowed her brows. “Some fast action, considering she only just came home and was safe and sound until yesterday.”

“Apparently, she fell from grace with the board of generals already a while back,” Benjamin explained. “It seems she was attached to the Felorn expedition part under the assumption that the mission was a guaranteed failure, providing them with the excuse to get rid of her. In the event that she didn’t die along the way, that is. Her safe return was definitely not a welcome event.”

“Fell from grace?” Izumi tilted her head.

The Court Wizard ended up answering her.

“For years, the Colonel has been on the forefront of demanding increased support for Ledarnia. For us. She wants humans to take a more active role in the war against the daemons, and increase the material aid to our colony. And as is to be expected, the Imperial generals do not love the idea of fighting monsters far across the sea; the losses would greatly outweigh the gains. They will much rather import our military know-how and apply it on local campaigns to subdue the other human states. They don’t need one of their own to complicate matters.”

“At the same time, there have been talks of Marafel becoming the first female general in the history of the Empire,” Benjamin continued. “Her leadership in the Dharvic war brought her fame, and with her looks and charisma, she’s quite popular with the public. And popular individuals always look threatening in the eyes of the leaders. What’s worse, the Stohenkartes are loyal to her above any general and stationed right here, at the heart of the city. If only she wanted to, Marafel could easily stage a coup d’état, using the elite knights division to seize control of the palace. The Colonel’s practically holding a dagger on the Emperor’s throat, even as she claims to be loyal to the Throne.”

“So that’s where the rub lies,” Izumi sighed with a troubled face. “I guess she had her circumstances. But thinking about it, wouldn’t she make a good ally for us? I mean, I kind of tried to recruit her into my harem—team, I mean—but she wasn’t too taken by my plan at the time. But if Lia’s doing the planning, we might just get her on board...”

“Hey, hey, aren’t you getting a little carried away?” Benjamin argued, looking unnerved.

“Rescue would be difficult at this point,” Carmelia commented. “The third division garrison was elected as the execution site. It is a suitably remote location away from Selenoreion, close to the slums of the Gralia district. The Colonel will be executed together with a number of common criminals, to keep the occasion suitably low in profile and controlled. The local news outlets are pressured to keep the details confidential. Apparently, the authorities are very much concerned with the risk of her subordinates interfering. But this also makes it more difficult for us to seize her. The Colonel was moved to the garrison’s holding cell earlier today. Our best chance was to extract her during the transit, an opportunity now lost to us.”

“As you can see, the garrison grounds are completely walled off on all sides,” Benjamin picked up, pointing at the map. “The only way in an out is the main gate here, and only authorized military personnel are allowed entry. Needless to say, the walls are guarded by archers around the clock. You’d need to be able to fly and turn invisible in order to make your way in.”

“Shucks,” Izumi remarked, staring at the map.

“There will come a time when the gates are opened, however,” the Court Wizard said. “Shortly before the event itself. Executions are always public, so they will be letting in locals for a brief time. They obviously don’t want the Colonel’s demise to go entirely unseen. A small number of knights from the Stohenkartes have also been assigned on guard duty—as witnesses, you might say. They’ll have to see what happens to those who turn on the Throne, and then share the message to their comrades.”

Benjamin glanced at the human woman across the table, at Itaka Izumi.

“The high command wants to make an example of Marafel. To improve discipline and quell the anti-government sentiments in the military that our antics have further fueled. It’s become a useful situation for them. One they’re not willing to give up easily.”

“...In other words, their hurry to get the murder machine going is in part thanks to me?” Izumi sullenly muttered, before looking up at the sorceress. “Is there no magical way for us to spirit her away from the holding cell then?”

“No,” Carmelia answered. “Your case was convenient to us. People were determined to forget you ever existed, and the isolation they imposed on you worked to our advantage. The Colonel’s situation differs, somewhat. She is kept under surveillance, day and night, in case she would try to take her own life to preserve her honor. Additionally, there are adept mages stationed at every garrison, who may not be capable of using high level magic, but who can at least perceive interference in the immediate proximity. If they catch any wind of my involvement...I shouldn’t need to remind you of my precarious position at the Court.”

“Yes, yes, Lia’s completely useless again, and I have to do everything by myself,” Izumi complained. “Well, I think I can get in with the crowds easily enough, once the doors open.”

“Don’t think it’s going to be that simple!” Benjamin told her. “They’re obviously checking people at the gate. You won’t get in with your sword, never mind other weapons, and there’s no way to hide or smuggle such onto the site beforehand either. There’ll be guards everywhere you look, and what can you do without weapons? It’s hopeless and you’re going to get yourself killed! Don’t even try!”

“Mmmm...”

While Izumi was busy puffing her cheeks, giving Benjamin her, “don’t tell me what I can’t do”-face, Carmelia carried on.

“The guards would not be your only concern inside. I have received word that two heroes of the Guild will be present at the execution.” Taking out two of the previously seen profile pages, the Court Wizard placed them atop the pile of other documents. “Shivgried, the hero of the cursed spear, also known as the Impaler. And, carrying out the executions in person, infamous Raleigh...Attempting to save the Colonel would mean making those two your opponents.”

“Unarmed,” Benjamin added, going on to lift the spearman’s picture. “We went over Raleigh before, but take a look at this guy. Our intel paints Shivgried Zaxon as an upstanding members of the Guild. He once served as a soldier in the Stohenkartes himself, but resigned to join the Dharvic war as a freelancer. His achievements over the course of the campaign made him a celebrity, and now he ranks above any knight.”

“Well, isn’t he a hard worker?” Izumi shrugged. “Everybody in this guild of champs has some sort of cheat skills, don’t they? So what can he do?”

“Oh, you’d be sorely mistaken to think they’re all about some easily countered gimmicks,” Benjamin rebuked the woman. “These are real human beings, like you and me, who fought to the top through outstanding effort, talent, and bravery. Underestimating the heroes of the Guild wouldn’t end well for you. That being said, having a trump card or two did help them make a name for themselves. There is one peculiar legend I’ve learned about Shivgried as well.”

“Surprised: none.”

“Do you want to hear it or not!?” The man cleared his throat and explained. “Ahem, they say that Shivgried’s grandmother was a powerful witch and blessed the boy when he was still little. The spell she used supposedly gives him unnatural luck in battle, although I can’t say whether that is strictly true or just a fable.”

“There is some truth to it, yes,” Carmelia confirmed. “I have personally observed effects of a peculiar enchantment around the man. To describe its nature, in an event where a sufficient number of variables remain unknown, the spell aligns these small factors favorably for the bearer. For example, it would greatly reduce the chances that a randomly fired enemy projectile would hit him in battle. Conversely, were he to blindly loosen a bolt himself under identical circumstances, he would be nearly guaranteed to always hit a target.”

“So, basically, statistical manipulation?” Izumi summarized. “Guess that would get him thrown out of every casino in Vegas.”

“Uh-huh,” Benjamin nodded. “He’s certainly not the kind of a guy you want to face unprepared. But on top of his special luck, Shivgried also carries a rather nasty weapon.”

“Lanhglid, the cursed crulean spear,” Carmelia explained. “I know not where he obtained it, but it is one of the eldest, greatest treasures of military history, dating back a great many cycles. Made by the famous blacksmith Cowlénanh, the spear was enchanted to penetrate anything the spearhead lands on, regardless of the target’s defenses. In fact, according to an old anecdote, the weapon’s prior holder once thoughtlessly released it from his grip, causing the spear to slip straight through the entirety of Ortho, only to emerge again on the other side of the planet. And it was then that cruleans discovered the world to be a globe...”

“…….”

“……...”

“…...Heh.” The magician softly chuckled at her absurd story, while the other two stood stupefied.

“… Elves don’t think very highly of cruleans,” Benjamin whispered to Izumi.

“I can see that...” Izumi replied with a blank face. “But, we’ve already proven this stick has its limits. It couldn’t get through my sword, after all.”

“That may be true,” the man said. “But you can’t bring your weapon to the execution grounds, remember? You'd be defenseless. Really, I don’t see any way for us to interfere. Walking in there when you have a legion of soldiers and two famous warriors against you is a suicide, no way around it. Our only hope lies with the princess and whether or not she can somehow persuade the Emperor to veto the verdict. Once the worst buzz dies down, we’ll have an easier time getting to the Colonel. So let us believe in her highness and wait. If that fails...well, we should probably brace ourselves for the worst.”

“Don’t forget,” Carmelia told Izumi, “your body is still recovering, and I am not done analyzing the effects of the Red Serum on you. Do not push yourself too hard now that your body is in such an unstable state, or irrecoverable ailments may occur.”

“Yes, yes...”

“Saying ‘yes’ once will do.”

Everyone around the table fell quiet, as if already praying in memory of the prisoner.

Izumi glanced first at the man, then at the elven sorceress, as if expecting either one to break the silence with a well-timed, “unless...”

In vain.

Neither met her look.

“So that’s it then?” Izumi asked. “We’re just going to sit still and do nothing? And that’s fine with you, Lia? Weren’t you friends with Mira-rin?”

“We mustn’t forget what we stand for,” Carmelia evasively responded, a neutral expression on her noble features. “The future of our races, of the world, depends on the choices we make here. We cannot risk everything for just one. It is irrational.”

“I have to agree,” Benjamin nodded. “It’s imperative that we keep our heads. As unfortunate as this is, Colonel Marafel is an outsider to our business. There are no guarantees that she’s willing to join our cause, even if we did somehow rescue her. We don’t have the luxury to be worrying about others while the noose tightens around our own necks. Rather, hiding more fugitives would only be another liability, one more way for the enemy to discover us. If we keep taking wild gambles like that, it will definitely come to cost us in the long run. Don’t give up hope, but don’t tempt fate either. Such is my policy.”

“You can only say that because you don’t know the person...” Izumi told him.

“You’re right,” Benjamin admitted. “But I believe that is all the more reason why I shouldn’t keep it to myself. As the only neutral party here, with no emotional investment, I have the necessary clarity of thought to say what needs to be said. As much as I loathe to be that ‘voice of reason’. But Ms Izumi, your life has been spared a great many times by now, by a hair. Please don’t waste those unlikely miracles for any emotional and thoughtless reason, all right?”

Not responding, Izumi looked at the sorceress instead.

Carmelia didn’t look back.

The cirelo remained quiet, her eyes closed, her face serene and still, as if she had turned into a statue on the spot, perfectly neutral and impartial.

“I get it,” Izumi finally said and turned to leave. “Yeah. I think I understand now. At any rate, I’m still feeling sleepy, so I’m gonna call it a day early.”

As if to emphasize her words, Izumi yawned wide and stretched her arms as she turned and left the library.

Shortly after the summoned woman had left, the Court Wizard recovered from her solemn meditation.

“I believe I shall also retire for the day,” she said and turned away from the table.

“Could you tell me something first, malevála,” Benjamin suddenly called after her. “After how long you’ve walked this earth, do you still hold faith in something like miracles?”

The sorceress paused, not turning.

“Of course not,” she answered, before continuing on through the grand doors out.

Early in the following morning, as a servant went to check up on her, Itaka Izumi’s room was found empty.

Chapter 6: The Imperial Colonel's Pyre is Lit

1

The Emperor of Tratovia didn’t spend his lengthy working hours exclusively seated on the cold Obsidian Throne. Obviously, that harsh chair was only ever intended for the more formal occasions, where he addressed his subjects and honorable guests ex cathedra, as an institution.

The Imperial Palace had numerous other, more comfortable places for tackling the more mundane affairs related to governing a nation, and it was in one of such rooms that his majesty received princess Yuliana now.

It was an office in the quiet northern section of the palace, largely resembling a simple parlor in layout, with a set of chairs, a divan, and an oval table, and one tall window in the back. Under the window's light also stood a heftier work desk. Additionally, there were bookshelves, drawers, and such like set alongside the walls, the sort you would see in the office of any humble civil servant.

Of course, the aesthetics of the room were a touch above that of a common mansion.

The furniture, fashioned of dark, imported wood, had been engraved all over with ornate, flowery patterns by masters of their craft, further adorned with linings of silver and platinum. The floor was tiled with cleanly polished, white and cyan stone. The air in the room, completely still, bore the weight of many a century, as well as the distinct scent of old wood and dust.

It was early in the morning. Not even the sun had risen yet.

In spite of Yuliana’s persistent insistence, she hadn’t been granted an audience any sooner. The servants had repeated that the Emperor was occupied and couldn’t be reached.

It had to have been a lie. No doubt this stalling was only another part of the game to take her anxiety and endurance to their limits, and so pressure her to comply with whatever more demands he could issue.

Yuliana hadn’t been told when the execution would take place, exactly, but the growing unrest within her suggested that the hour wasn’t far off anymore.

Did his majesty even have any intention of stopping it?

Was he determined to punish Yuliana out of petty pride, for defying him, by letting the Colonel die? No, surely he had to realize he was only damaging his own plans by doing so? There was no reason for the princess to keep her own word, if he decided to betray his own. Rather, in that event, she was determined to resist his every request to the bitter end.

With such depressing thoughts, at long last, the princess was taken from her tower, into the palace. Into this room, where the Emperor sat behind the desk by the window, calm and composed, as if it were only another average day of work for him. Perhaps it was.

—“You wished to see me, your highness?”

No matter how many times Yuliana saw him, the looks of the Emperor never failed to unnerve her. His firm posture, strong frame, and the direct, unabashed gaze of his grim, deep eyes, which appeared to see straight through to her heart—that gaze made her vulnerable and insecure.

This was the man who led the greatest nation on the continent...That terrible burden of responsibility had to have tempered his will to monstrous hardness, the way diamonds are squeezed out of carbon under the monumental pressure of earth’s depths.

Be it in body or mind, Yuliana had no hope of overpowering him.

Then what could she do, exactly?

While Langoria was no small kingdom either, the princess had never felt her rank there as much of a strain. Not the same way. The land was at peace and she had always had others by her side, to guide her, to advise her. She had shared the weight of her royal status with the many people around her, with her parents, with her devoted servants.

But, wasn’t that only because nothing was expected of her?

Because she was only a girl, unfit to become a ruler?

Before the load of carrying a kingdom, she had been pressured only by the wish to be given a chance.

It was to prove that she was worthy of carrying such burdens that she had joined the army.

The only time Yuliana had ever had to assume direct responsibility for other people’s lives was when she had been promoted a knight officer. But no one is alone in the army—even then she had comrades she could trust, subordinates with whom to share the shackles of duty, and dear friends she could count on with her life.

Who did the sovereign of this powerful Empire have?

The Obsidian Throne could only be claimed by one.

Countless were the servants around him, but did he ever have even one to call a friend? Who could this man trust this deep in the vile heart of the ceaseless struggle for power, which carried on all around him?

Nevertheless, not only that of his city, his country—this man had willingly assumed responsibility for the very future of mankind.

Could anyone even dream of matching his resolve?

Nevertheless, Yuliana couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by their differences now.

Once again, as a princess, she had to contain her personal emotions, her fatigue and worry, and fight her own battle.

“Can I count on your word—are you able to stop the execution?” Yuliana asked the Emperor, without wasting time for greetings.

Not giving an immediate answer, the Emperor stood from his chair and turned to the window.

“You ask certainty of me which I cannot provide,” he finally said.

“Then we are in the same boat,” Yuliana continued. “I have no guarantees that my father will agree to your terms, even if I’m to present them on your behalf. And I have none that you will keep your word, no matter what I promise in exchange. Then do tell me, how do you see this playing out?”

The Emperor gave her a quick glance.

Her tone was sharp, aggressive. How quickly she had bounced back after the shock in the previous morning, the Emperor didn’t fail to recognize it. As if his stalling and their personal disparities meant nothing, she faced him head-on, asking neither for forgiveness or mercy. Was only youth the source of her vigor? Or was it simply her tenacious nature?

“We are at an impasse, as far as I can see,” the man said. “For me to overstep my boundaries and overrule a legal verdict demands exceptional terms. Can you offer me such or can you not?”

“All I can offer is my commitment,” Yuliana said. “I will negotiate for you. I will face my father, in person. For your right of passage and the construction of the fleet on Langorian soil. I will do all I can to bring him to our side. I give you my word.”

The Emperor turned back from the window and faced the princess—and shook his head.

“That is not good enough.”

Yuliana scowled at him, as he continued,

“Walking over my generals means evoking their ire. In Tratovia, strength means everything. The army has the strength to overthrow me, as they have done with so many of my forefathers in the past. I am risking an uprising and could lose my head for it, for an agreement that guarantees me practically nothing in return. You say you ‘will try’? Did I give you such lukewarm words? No. Equality is the basis of all transactions, your highness. So far as I can tell, this bargain favors you greatly, whereas it leaves me at a dead end.”

The princess bit her lip.

Speaking of equality, the life of a single person could hardly be valued the same as risking the violent takeover of an entire kingdom—of course, Yuliana knew her rhetorics would only be disregarded. No matter how unfair the terms, she could only deal with them in order to get what she wanted.

“Then what do you propose?” she asked.

“I need an insurance,” the man’s basso reached easily across the silent room. “Are you prepared to stake your life, the same as myself? Are you willing to commit in the true sense of the saying? It is only then that we are equal and a contract can be made.”

“What manner of an insurance do you mean?”

“Either you will turn your father to our cause...Or you will carry the cause in his place. Do you understand? If the King cannot be reasoned with, then he must be overthrown. Either through conventional war, or by your very own hands, if necessary. How far are you willing to go for the sake of our world? Do you only preach heroic words of the path of least suffering, or are you able to take us down that road by force, if you must? Are you prepared to swear you will fight for our collective future—vow on it? With a gias?”

Yuliana looked back at the Emperor in dismay.

Gias, a self-inflicted spell, the true oath, an unbreakable curse…Where one’s words lacked credit, her very soul could be made her judge.

The consequences of breaking one’s gias extended into the afterlife, leaving the oathbreaker roaming the border of life and death as a mindless wraith, forever consumed by rage and regret.

Yuliana was better than familiar with the concept; she had been bound by a gias already once before, in a not very distant past. That immaterial bind still chained her spirit, even now, though she did her best to hide it. The Emperor would have Yuliana bind herself with that dreadful shackle, unaware that she already carried it.

To ensure that she wouldn’t betray her word—betray him.

After that, the way ahead stood grim.

Either convince her father that the Emperor, their greatest enemy, was just.

Or else make the King her enemy instead and bring him down.

The King, her own flesh and blood.

For the sake of the world.

For her mentor’s life.

This contract was far from the answer to her wishes, never mind equal. The face that this two-sided blade showed the princess looked by far worse than it did for him—for it carried the danger of having her good will be exploited anyhow, wielded as a tool to enslave her and destroy her people.

Just how much black could be mixed into white, while still keeping it acceptably gray?

“And what insurance will I have that you will honor your end of the bargain?” she therefore asked. “You aren’t willing to swear it all the same, are you?”

“I am,” the Emperor said, to her surprise. “I do not know who you take me for, but you do me injustice by doubting my intentions. My priorities are perfectly clear. If you vow to aid me, I will vow to stop the execution. Of course, I cannot vow I will not go to war, as the risk of you failing remains. But I can promise that I will believe in your for as long as you have the will to go on, and that your people will stand for as long as you do. I will sign it in my own blood, if I must. So how shall it be, your highness, Yuliana Da Via Brannan? How far do you value Colonel Marafel? Enough to deliver her from a terrible fate? How far do you value the world you inhabit? The future of your own people together with the rest? More than the old fool of a father, who drove you into exile and branded you a traitor for your selfless sacrifice? It is time we cast our differences aside and looked into one direction. Together.”

“Regardless of his deeds, it is my father you speak of...” Yuliana muttered, but without much spirit.

“My apologies. But time is of the essence. Have you made up your mind? I can stop the Executioner, yes. My word alone can even halt the tongues of flames as they climb up the stake to devour their helpless victim. I can steal the Colonel from that inferno with but one command. But that command I cannot give, unless you give me your word first. So, how shall it be?”

Yuliana raised her face and looked at the Emperor, determined, but not hiding her displeasure.

“I will do it,” she said.

“Now you show the maturity befitting your rank,” he nodded in approval.

“Spare me of your patronizing.”

“Sadly, we lack mages skilled enough to enforce a gias on the spot at the moment, so we will have to do it the old-fashioned way: in writing. The appropriate scroll will be prepared shortly, so be ready for the signing. I will send for you once it is time.”

“Do not stall any further,” Yuliana told him. “Betray me and I will rather haunt you as a wraith to the end of the world than aid your wretched ‘cause’. Of that, I can give you my word, without magic and theatrics.”

“Duly noted,” the man said, before turning away and leaving the room.

Again, Yuliana was left to wait.

Wait, as if it were her only role in life.

Impatient, she looked at the window.

Outside, the eastern sky was turning faintly blue.

2

There was still time until daybreak, but the roughly cobbled yard behind the dull gray third garrison barracks was already bustling with activity. In the yard, near the tall back wall, stood an imposing wooden platform. In its manifold utility, the construct was certainly a show of quality carpentry, suited for musical performances of extravagant splendor.

Of course, no music was going to be played anywhere near it.

On that broad stage, near the front edge, was nailed a thick, stained block, where human beings could be beheaded with great efficiency, on top of providing unobstructed visibility for the audience. High over the stage was also raised a long, thick bar, with several mechanical hatchets under it, enabling the hanging of as many as eight people side by side. Additionally, on the yard in front of the platform, a suitably wide distance apart, two tall stakes had been embedded into the ground, upon which offenders could be burned without them becoming too much of a distraction from the rest of the show.

Why such a variety of torments for the wicked? Was not one method of death perfectly sufficient for all?

Clearly not, in the lawmakers’ opinion. Being simply beheaded was by all means the most painless of deaths that could be granted to a person by the current standards of technology, and therefore reserved for the less tainted of villains. Random killers, murderers, repeated offenders—and those who found themselves in the bad books of the elite, even through no obvious fault of their own.

Being hung, slowly suffocating to death—if not immediately freed from the agony via a broken neck—was naturally a level more agonizing an experience.

It was mostly bandits, pirates, assassins, and others leading a dedicated life of crime, who had this cruel fate coming. One needed multiple innocent lives on their conscience, or to otherwise pose a significant problem to public security and property, before they would find themselves with a noose tightened around their necks. The Empire was by no means unreasonable or unfair with its verdicts. Generally speaking.

Who then should be burned?

As the most painful and dramatic of all available methods of execution, those to be burned were, as follows, the vilest of lawbreakers known in all land. Conspirators, traitors, serial killers, witches, non-humans, and such, who horrified the common populace with their wicked deeds and existence alone. Not many of this variety were tried per year, if any.

Rumors had it that today was going to be an exception.

Lured by the gossip of someone to be burned after so long, more people than was usual had gathered to the execution grounds. Already well before the garrison gates were opened, a crowd of ragtag locals from the slums had pooled in the narrow street outside, waiting to be let in. Seeing those even worse off than they were, those they could hate without reservation, without fear of punishment—for many, this was the only solace to be found in their miserable lives.

But no one could foretell exactly what manner of a spectacle awaited them.

As the gates were finally opened and the crowds shifted in, they were met with a sight that rendered them speechless.

The right one was untaken, but tied to the stake on the left, on a delicate little footing high up, was a woman of exceptional beauty. Crimson curls fluttered in the wind, framing a dignified, pale face, where in place of blind fear only a distant, apathetic look could be seen.

The woman’s wrists were bound with thick ropes, and the ropes were fastened on a metal ring near the top of the stake, pulling her elbows above her head in a vulnerable posture. Her waist as well was tied to the stake, preventing the prisoner from moving around much.

The audience followed with confounded looks as guards piled bundles of dry firewood in a tall hill reaching the prisoner’s feet, one after another, then to be doused with a generous helping of oil.

Even as this was done, the woman didn’t ask anyone for help or try to convince them of her innocence. She didn’t plead for her life like most in her position tended to do, sob or scream, but only stared off into sunrise, altogether ignoring the presence of other people.

What had such a noble-looking person done to deserve such a fate? It was a bit difficult for the elderly in the audience to understand. By the costly-looking white shirt and black trousers, the more educated could infer a connection to the military, but no rank insignia or other details to help with identification were visible. The prisoner didn’t even have shoes.

Though they knew not the verdict yet, the majority quickly went on to make up one of their own.

A witch.

Surely the woman was a vile demoness, an enchantress who used her beauty to veil her overflowing malice, and had crawled her way deep into the ranks of the Imperial capital. With a shudder, people quickly averted their faces.

More guards than usual were stationed at the execution grounds, around the occupied stake in particular. Intimidating, black-armored knights stood among ordinary army troops, members of the legendary Imperial elite. Even the less informed residents of the Gralia district quickly developed a wordless understanding that the execution today—and the identity of the “witch” in particular—was of a very delicate nature.

The citizens were going to witness the making of history and so followed the developments under tense, cautious, but hungry silence.

In time, other prisoners were marched onto the wide stage.

There was a quite a line of them, men and women, young and old, their hands all bound, their faces equally miserable. Mostly criminals from the nearby areas. The great capital had more than one prison, more than one judge, and more than one execution site, for each major area of the city, so typically the faces up there were familiar.

Once a sufficient audience had gathered, the garrison gates were shut again and the show was set to begin.

Next, several official-looking figures representing the law in their red-and-white robes came out of the garrison building. Judges, attorneys, local political figureheads, and jury representatives. One of these people, a balding, slim, middle-aged man, took the role of an announcer, to read out loud the secretarial notes. He alone climbed up to the stage, while the rest took seat at a table further in the corner of the yard.

Without much suspense, they got into the business, as usual.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer spoke. "On the dawn of the twenty-first of Maarat, in the year nine hundred and ninety-nine of the thirty-third cycle: in the name of his Imperial Majesty, the following verdicts shall be put into motion, in order, starting with the least grave. The prisoners, please step forward as your name is called. Mister Jarred Bletev, age twenty-three, for the theft of three apples and a loaf of bread, sentenced to endure thirteen whiplashes...”

"It was only half a loaf, really.”

One by one, the lengthy line of wrongdoers was processed.

Thieves were whipped by a guard, their bared backs sliced full of deep red lines. Halfhearted jeers from the audience accompanied the criminals’ cries of agony. No doubt the scars of this day would make them think twice before they would resort to theft again—at least until their endless hunger made the memories of pain fade.

The next time, the number of whiplashes would be doubled.

Those unfortunate enough to get caught for the third time had their right arm cut at the wrist. The saber doing the deed was sharp enough to slice through flesh and bone with unnerving ease and swiftness, making the whole procedure somewhat surreal to witness. Like the chopping of humanoid cucumbers.

The audience followed the enactment of punishments with scattered interest.

These were all mere entrees and everyone was anxiously awaiting the main course.

It was as the people were already turning drowsy with tedium when the atmosphere took a sharp turn more tense.

An enormous man emerged from the barracks at the edge of the yard.

Around six feet and a half tall, the man’s grotesque body looked both starved and fat, muscular at places, bony at others, his long, rough limbs dry and sinewy, like the roots of an old tree. His round, fat stomach hung bare under a black, open-front vest. How he had managed to stuff his legs in those tight leather trousers, no one could bring themselves to guess. No easier was it to understand how he had promptly tied up the laces of his huge boots. Someone else had to have done it for him. With no other clothes, save for a black sack he had pulled over his head, hiding his whole head, this colossus of a man strode unhurriedly across the yard, towards the platform. Both citizens and soldiers alike pulled away from before the ominous figure, like he was a leper.

Pausing before the stairs leading up on the stage, the man gave the stake-bound prisoner a glance through the tiny eye holes in the sack.

“It could be that I was born for this day,” he uttered with a relishing sigh.

The prisoner, Miragrave, returned him a glance full of spite and said nothing.

Passing the stake, the man climbed up the stairs to the platform, the thick boards groaning under his weight.

Left next to the block, so far unused, was an enormous, wide-bladed axe, which the man proceeded to pick up. With no visible effort, he lifted that massive hunk of steel high up in the air and held it there, like a star performer his microphone.

The audience was too frightened by the man’s appearance and reputation to greet him with cheers or whistles, however.

That reputation—was mainly about how the Executioner tended to have great difficulty limiting his victims to those on the block. And how he, as a privileged champion of the Empire, was above the very law he executed, everyone else subjects to his violent whims.

Surely he was not born that way?

Raleigh Vanhersia did once bear a dignified name like any other man.

Hardly anyone remembered his full name anymore, however. These days, he was commonly called with names such as, “beast”, “monster”, “asshole”, or “son of a whore”, among many others not much more flattering.

Even those, who were in vain trying to promote the man as a hero of the Empire, had to content with the unimaginative title, “Executioner”.

He didn’t mind.

“Let’s get this started!” the man hollered and his voice hit the crowds like a sonic blast.

Guards brought forward the next prisoner from the line, a frail, famished-looking woman.

“Miss Dolores Stevall, known also as ‘Dule’,” the announcer read in his dry tone. “Born on the sixth of Selennam, in the year nine hundred and fifty-two. For the murder of her three infants in the years nine hundred and eighty-two, eighty-four, and ninety-six...sentenced to death by beheading.”

The audience booed, slowly overcoming their dread of the executioner. Murderers of children were regrettably frequent in the poorer areas, where the residents couldn’t afford to support a proper family. The majority loathed those who resorted to such desperate measures and showed no sympathy for Dolores. To think she had managed to hide her crimes for so long, only to be exposed by a neighbor—animosity hung nauseatingly thick in the air.

The prisoner was too shocked to even speak. Pale as a sheet, the woman was brought over to the block and forced on her knees by the guards. There was a metal ring on the floor, to which her bound hands were tied, her head and neck left exposed against the block before it. A rough-made basket was placed on the other side of the block, for a predictable purpose.

With brisk steps, Raleigh walked over to the prisoner and, almost as if by an accident, dropped the axe while passing by.

Shunk! The blade bit into the block, swiftly separating the captive’s head from the rest of the body with its sheer mass.

“Say hello to the kids for me,” the executioner remarked.

It was now that the audience broke into bloodthirsty cheers and applause.

As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened—for it was indeed nothing out of the ordinary—the announcer went on.

“Mister Ival Sehekam from Tuval, born on the twenty-eighth of Maarat, in the year nine hundred and sixty-two, for the calculated murder of his son-in-law, sentenced to death by beheading.”

Time after time again, the axe fell.

As if sweeping away garbage someone kept leaving on his block, Raleigh decapitated the convicts with downright disrespectful disinterest. One after the other, the guards kept emptying the basket of severed heads into a pile at the base of the platform, for the audience to gawk at, while the headless corpses were dragged away and cast into a large cart waiting behind the stage.

After about fifteen prisoners had lost their lives before justice, the executioner suddenly stopped, lifting his boot up on the bloodied block.

“I can’t do this,” he said in a dejected tone.

“S-sir…?” the announcer gave the man a startled look. Whenever Raleigh got into such a mood, one could never quite tell what would happen next.

“This...this air...I don’t like it,” the man said. “I can’t keep going like this.”

“W-whatever do you mean, sir? It doesn’t seem any different to me...”

“Yes. I’m not you. And you’re not me.”

“T-that’s obvious, no…?” the Imperial official nervously swallowed. He felt the stare of the unseen eyes behind the black hood sink into him.

“You’re...stammering,” Raleigh said. “You’re...a nobody. While I—I am an entertainer.”

“An...entertainer?”

“Yes. That’s what we’re here for. This is entertainment. These people have come here to have fun. Everything we do is for the sake of their pleasure. For their thrill. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be here, now would they?”

“...I assumed we were here to uphold the law,” the announcer suggested.

“Which is entertainment,” the executioner replied. “The law doesn’t exist for the sake of trifling notions of right and wrong. It’s to appease people, to humor them, to make them feel things are working out, somehow, that those who do injustice to them are destroyed, because that’s what makes them happy and content. Do you see? In light of this, we are all fools, clowns, you and me, and the main difference between us is that I know this.”

“I-is that so…? And, what exactly do you mean to say by this?”

“We need to brighten up the mood a little.”

“Brighten the mood?”

“Fire. We need fire,” a grim voice carried through the black cloth. “I want to see flames. I want one roasted wench, with screams of agony. Right. Now.”

“But, sir...” the official protested. “We have orders to keep from burning the prisoner until further instructions arrive...”

“I am the law here!” The large man stepped up to the announcer, grabbed his robe front and lifted him up in the air with one arm, holding him over the edge of the platform.

“To tell you what, I can’t stand it,” the executioner whispered. “The way I hear them speak of that broad. I hear hope in their tones. Reverence. Reverence, for a hole? No one ever spoke of me with such pride. Though I gave up so much for this land. Do you have any idea what I gave? What I took? For this land that’s not even my own? I GAVE UP EVERYTHING! Do you understand!?”

“Sir, his majesty will not allow—”

Raleigh didn’t listen to the official’s objections but let go of him.

The robed man fell eight feet down from the stage, onto the pavement below, and was left lying there, groaning in agony while holding his leg. It seemed he had twisted his ankle. Guards hurried to drag the man to safety.

Meanwhile, the hooded giant approached one of the fire pits set up on the stage and took out a burning branch. Then, ignoring the guards’ alarmed gestures, he turned back to face the prisoner tied at the stake and held the torch up.

“Marafel!” he shouted at her. “My gift to you! I’d much like to give you something more of myself—but you don’t deserve it.”

Raleigh tossed the branch into the pile of wood under the stake. Shortly, the flames reached the streaks of oil and started to spread. The dour, gray morning was becoming simultaneously obfuscated by black smoke—and brightened up by the growing dance of fire.

Everyone’s eyes, guards and crowds alike, were stolen by the tragic sight of a woman in deadly peril. But Raleigh, too impatient to follow the slow growth of the flames, returned to his prior business and howled,

“Next!”

Stepping forward, the next prisoner approached the block.

Indeed, she did so of her own volition, without any guards to force her, as if eager to get rid of her head. The executioner, who rarely paid any attention to who he was putting down, now looked at the convict closer with a frown.

Besides her behavior, there was something else off about her.

It was a young woman, a foreigner by the looks of her. Face too clean and full for an impoverished beggar of the slums. Instead of the prisoner’s garb or civilian clothing, she was dressed in a light, form-fitting gambeson, breeches, and leather shoes. Not a very feminine attire, or cheap. A soldier or a mercenary?

“Well, hello there,” the woman greeted the executioner with a cheerful smile. “Love the sack. I feel easier in the crowds too when people can’t see my face. Though I usually wear shades, not bags, but I guess this world doesn’t have Ray Ban.”

“And who the Hel are you?” Raleigh asked.

Without the announcer and his list, the prisoner’s identity was left unstated.

“Itaka Izumi,” the prisoner answered on her own. “Born on the twenty-fourth of August, in the year—well, I’ll leave that to your imagination. You wouldn’t believe me anyway, and a woman’s age is something of a sensitive topic. Oh, as for my crime—I tried to kill the Emperor. Am still trying, actually. And pretty soon will.”

“...So there was someone even more insane than I left in this city?” the executioner remarked after a confused pause. “As you wish then. Onto the block.”

Izumi obediently knelt before the blood-stained stump of wood bearing the scars of numerous axe blows. One of the guards recovered enough to come bind her hands to the metal ring next to it.

The audience was torn between which show to watch, the final moments of the valiant redhead witch, or the beheading of the suspicious madwoman.

Ultimately, the former won.

The gluttonous fire was already reaching the young Colonel’s feet. Grimacing for the growing heat, Miragrave struggled to pull away from the flames, but the tight binds did their job impeccably. Izumi’s eccentricity failed to leave an impression next that desperate, hopeless struggle. Not even the executioner himself noticed when the prisoner on the block muttered something quietly under her breath.

“Brandt.”

In a hurry to get rid of this grating interruption, Raleigh absentmindedly raised the heavy axe into another act of murder, of nominal justice.

——But as soon as he did, Izumi already bounced back up to her feet and faced the axe, her hands released from their smoking bounds. Throwing her right arm up, she blocked the weapon’s path by seizing the bottom end of the handle.

“Boo.”

Startled, Raleigh reflexively applied more strength into his arms, to force down the weapon and cut the woman down. Next to his mass, she was certainly nothing more than a humanoid toothpick. His move unexpectedly met no resistance, however. Izumi, receiving his wrist, turned away from under the attack. Quickly spinning three fourths of a circle around, she aimed a back kick at the executioner’s left knee to further unbalance him, and then threw the staggered man over her hip.

Rolling after the cutting motion, Raleigh landed on his back onto the block, his raw mass turned against him.

“Graahh!”

Before he could recover, Izumi lifted her arm high up and elbowed the cloaked face with all her weight. Like a blunt guillotine’s blade, her strike connected. A grotesque crunch sounded from the man’s neck, and the executioner’s body rolled limply down from the platform, dropping onto the pavement below with a nasty, flat slap.

The sudden turn of events finally stole the spectators’ attention.

A collective gasp of surprise drowned out even the crackling of flames.

“Okay, here goes nothing...”

Picking up Raleigh’s dropped greataxe, Izumi briefly gauged its weight and faced the infernal pyre. Then, lifting the mighty weapon overhead with both hands, she took a long step forward, drawing forth all her might, and flung the slab of metal across the air.

“Ha—!”

Slicing through the smoke with an eerie whoom-whoomp sound, the spinning axe hit its mark, the top end of the stake sticking up from the flaming pile.

The stake was shattered by the impact, split lengthwise from top to bottom, with splinters flying in every direction. The audience covered their eyes and recoiled.

Simultaneously, the ropes tying the prisoner to the stake were loosened.

Miragrave’s arms regained their freedom of movement. Slamming her numb palms down at the binds across her waist, she gathered focus and grunted,

“Firis!”

Burned instantly away by a spell several levels above a mere rune, the robes broke to dust, and the prisoner was released. Bearing with the heat and pain, Miragrave quickly secured a better footing amid the burning mound of firewood, and took a wild leap across the fire. After the steep dive, she landed rolling onto the pavement, before the eyes of the bewildered people. The witch had been released! The people hurried to back away the best they could, all too genuinely terrified.

Disregarding their shocked looks, Miragrave frantically patted out the flames that had caught onto her trousers and shirt hems, forcing out of her mind the agonizing demise she had so narrowly avoided.

It was hardly the time to rejoice.

Unrest spread quickly in the audience. The stunned guards were starting to remember their role in the performance and clutched their spears, trying to restore order. Two close by rushed towards the captive to detain her. One was a soldier from the garrison, one a knight of the Imperial elite, veiled in the ever familiar black armor.

Dealing with simple guards was one thing, but fighting off the Stohenkartes unarmed was a lot asked. Even if she could move again, Miragrave was far from unharmed or in top condition, never mind ready for a fight for her life.

Fortunately, she didn’t need to try her luck either.

The black knight hadn't been in a hurry to apprehend her, after all. Instead, he suddenly tackled the garrison soldier from the side and punched him in the face without restraint. The soldier was knocked out and fell into the street, adding to the surrounding confusion. Fearing they would get caught in a fight between two armed forces, succumbing into a state of general panic, the locals started to pour towards the exit like one gelatinous mass.

Somewhere, the alarm bell started ringing, adding to the chaotic atmosphere.

The unknown knight quickly crouched by the downed guard and went through his equipment, then turning back to Miragrave.

“Colonel,” a voice spoke through the helmet visor, as he threw Miragrave a bundle of keys. “Your chains. Take his sword and flee from here. We’ll hold them back for as long as we can.”

“...Marcel, is it?” Miragrave noted, recognizing the voice, and caught the keys. “I’m in your debt.”

“No, ma’am. I am in yours. I thought I would go through fire for you, but I found that I could not. Fear held me back. That cowardice will stain my honor to the end of my days. But rest assured, the Divines know I will not hesitate again.”

“Don’t die. That's an order.”

The knight named Marcel dashed to assist his comrades in holding back the garrison guards and helping the citizens escape.

“Medium-rare or well done?” Izumi asked, suddenly appearing from the surrounding chaos.

“How and why in the blazes are you here?” Miragrave asked her with an uncharacteristically tense look.

“I came to rescue you, why else?” Izumi replied with a shrug. “Although, I have to say there’s no plan from here on. I thought I’d just improvise things until this point, and leave the rest to you. Since planning is more your line of business.”

“It can’t be called a rescue until your target is in safety,” Miragrave retorted. “But a distraction you’ve certainly made. We’ll have to make use of that.”

“How do we get out then? Blend with the crowd and sneak past the guards?”

“No,” Miragrave shook her head. “No one’s getting out. Now that the alarm has been sounded, all the garrison troops will be gathered to restore order. They will seal off the block and comb through the crowds and buildings until they find what they want. And slay those who resist.”

“But there is a way out, right?”

“...We must take the path they least expect us to. Head inside the barracks.”

“Hiding in the vipers’ nest?” Izumi scratched her ear. “I sure didn’t expect that.”

“We’re not hiding. Down in the cellars, there is an underground passage. Not many know about it. It will take us outside the Gralia district and to the outskirts. Unnoticed, if we're lucky.”

“Not to look the gift horse in the mouth, but how do you know about it?” Izumi asked.

“I enlisted here,” Miragrave sternly answered. “This place is my second home. Now move it. If we are very, very lucky, the buildings will be empty. Try not to attract any more attention than you already have.”

Using the bewildered crowds and the smoke from the scattered fire for cover, the two made their way towards the tall barracks across the yard.

“But what’s the catch?” Izumi couldn’t help but ask as they ran. “It’s not going to be this easy, is it?”

Looking cautiously around, Miragrave responded,

“I don’t see Zaxon anymore. He was in the crowd, but disappeared after the commotion began. Expect trouble.”

And, under her breath, impossible for Izumi to hear, she added,

“He’s the one who showed me the passage.”

3

As they had hoped, the barracks were largely empty inside. Most soldiers at the garrison were busy containing the restless locals outside, and trying to capture the rogue knights and prisoners mixed among them. More than a few convicts had managed to get away in the commotion and were fighting for their lives.

Still, it would only be a matter of time before the army would get the situation back under control again and the search would be extended to cover the nearby buildings. The escapees had to get as far away as possible before then.

Avoiding the lingering guards in the hallways and stealthily making their progress through the barracks, Izumi and Miragrave headed towards the northern end and the path hidden in the cellars therein.

On the way, they came to a spacious dining hall.

Dozens of plain tables, hundreds of worn-out chairs, unclaimed and scattered, with a handful of plates and bowls left behind. The alarm had summoned several diners in the middle of their meal, it seemed.

How nostalgic a sight it had to have been to the former garrison trainee, Izumi could only guess. Even if her companion held some fond memories of it, the mess hall in its crude simplicity and bleak chalk walls was all-in-all an unpleasant sight to the earthling. Izumi would have preferred to keep going, but they were compelled to take a short break. Miragrave had bad-looking burns on her left leg, upper arm, and back, which she now cleansed with water from the kitchen, gritting her teeth but not letting a sound escape.

“Are you going to be all right?” Izumi asked with some concern.

“This is nothing,” Miragrave defiantly replied, leaning her back on the wall and gathering her strength. “No matter the looks, I am still a soldier and not a stranger to hurt. Though you do seem to have a talent for catching me at my less finer moments.”

“Now’s not the time for the tough act,” Izumi scolded the Colonel. “Only us girls here. If it really hurts then you should just say so.”

“Hmph,” Miragrave only returned her a wry look. “Speaking of which, you have saved my life once again. What are you aiming for, anyway, going out of your way to rescue one such as I? There is nothing left I can give you, and being so indebted to another is not something I can claim to enjoy.”

“Would it kill you to just say thanks for once?”

“Yes. See?” the Colonel added with a faint smile. “I am a frigid, ungrateful woman like that. I compare not to your princess in the slightest. Therefore, your recklessness for my sake make no sense.”

“Sometimes I really can’t tell if you’re being prideful or just self-loathing,” Izumi sighed. “I did get advised against it—but at the same time, there are tons of people who’d hate to see you go, right? Yule for one. I’m not really looking to get anything out of this, even though a kiss on the cheek, or a tight squeeze, or something even more fanservice-y would be kind of nice. At the end of the day, I’m just doing mankind a favor. I told you before, didn’t I? I’m the defender of pretty girls everywhere in the world. If I build up enough good karma, it’s bound to pay back handsomely some day. I just know it.”

“As usual, your words are incomprehensible to me,” Miragrave commented, hiding her face.

“Right. But maybe we should keep going now, if you’re up to it. I’ve a bad feeling about this place, so I’d rather not stick around for much longer.”

“The way to the cellars is beyond here, down the hallway past the kitchen, and to the right,” Miragrave instructed the earthling. “There, down the stairs, and across the corridor, until the furthermost storage room. There should be a hatch by the left side wall, covered by a mattress. Down the hatch, we will come to a tunnel that will take us underground.”

“Oh, it’s an underground level next?” Izumi groaned. “Love those. How big are the rats? There aren’t any frogs that spew petrifying gas, are there?”

“There’s nothing and it’s not rats I’m worried about. But you’re right that we should be on our way.”

Ready to resume their journey, the two women turned to leave the hall.

But it was at the same time, that two soldiers suddenly emerged from the side door into the hall.

For a couple of seconds, the two parties stared at each other in surprise.

—“Hey!”

Recovering, the guards drew their swords and charged at the suspicious pair. Instead of running away, seeing that there were no more than two enemies, Izumi and Miragrave turned to confront them instead.

Surprised by the sudden change of pace, the soldiers halted and hesitated.

“Adena firis!” Miragrave held out her palm and cried. At once, a red bolt flashed out from the air before her hand, together with dense trail of black smoke. The obscure projectile struck the closest soldier in the chest with quiet but effective force, sending a tuft of embers around and knocking him back like a ragdoll. As the second troop stood stunned by his comrade’s abrupt fall, Izumi dashed at him. Staggering him with a palm strike to the chin, she seized his sword-hand, and impaled the soldier with his own weapon.

“You know how to use magic?” Izumi turned back to ask Miragrave. “Were you a witch, after all? I thought you were the knight type? How come you get to main two classes? That’s just not fair!”

“Thaumaturgical studies are mandatory in elite officer training,” the Colonel answered with a hint of pride. “And I was hand-picked for Ledarnia. Although, my knowledge of the Art is fairly narrow in scope.”

“Well, that’s still a lot better than what I know. Hey, maybe you could—”

“Now’s not the time. More could be nearby. We should move on.”

Miragrave urged Izumi to keep going and they turned to head in the kitchen’s direction.

But at the same time...a wrathful roar came from outside the dining hall.

——“I CAN HEAR YOU! COME OUT AND FACE ME, YOU COWARDLY WHORES!”

The two women paused, in disbelief, for they recognized the voice.

It should have been impossible, and yet, their senses clearly told otherwise.

“Raleigh...” Miragrave muttered with a disgusted frown.

“A stubborn bastard. I knew I should’ve chopped his head clean off to make sure.” Izumi sighed and then gestured for the Colonel to go on. “I really don’t want to fail this rescue mission by getting the VIP killed halfway through, so why don’t you go ahead and wait for me somewhere safe? I’ll clean up and follow as soon as I can.”

“There is no reason to stay behind to fight that animal. We should make our escape. He cannot catch up with that body of his.”

“But the noise he makes will bring the whole company here, right? I’d like a bit bigger a headstart, since I’m not a big fan of running. I’ve lost enough weight by now, I only have so many cups left.”

“...Suit yourself,” Miragrave gave up and turned to leave. “Yes, it’s probably better this way.”

“Hm?”

“It’s nothing. I trust that this is not a problem for you, after how you made short work of my squad. Happy hunting.”

Masking her feelings in irony, the red-haired woman disappeared through the kitchen door, while Izumi, shaking off her doubts, stepped in the opposite direction to intercept their pursuer.

Soon enough, the executioner’s large bulk pushed through the doorway in the other end of the hall. Despite the beating Izumi had given him only a short while ago, his malevolent frame appeared to be, if not the image of good health, at least fully functional—and armed again, with his dreadful axe.

Seeing his prey, the hooded man slowed down.

“Ah, there you are. How courteous of you,” Raleigh remarked. “Yes, I should thank you, wench. Not only have you returned me the thrill of the hunt I’ve missed for too long, you have delivered the good Colonel from the fire. Now I may take my time to inflict upon her every defilement I can think of, while the rest of the Empire presumes her dead.”

“And why are you still walking?” Izumi ignored him and asked. “I’m pretty sure I cracked your neck. Even if you are a pretty big guy, there’s no way your ligaments should be any tougher than those of an average person.”

“I know, I probably should have died back there—if only I were an ordinary man, that is,” the brute replied. “Unfortunately for you, this is Raleigh, the hero of the Empire feared across all Noertia, that you look upon! Ha!”

“That really doesn’t explain much.”

“It is a story you want? Then listen.” Slowly waving his hand, as if to illustrate a fairy tale, the man explained. “Back on the night I was born, a bright star was seen in the skies. My father took that as a sign, and went to see a wandering prophet, to ask what would become of his firstborn son. Would he grow up a just man, build a name for himself as a hero, prosper, and bring glory to the ancestors? How should he best help his son reach such a destiny? That’s what he wanted to know. Well, what do you think the prophet answered him?”

“Let me guess, you didn’t win the lottery of life?”

“Ha! ‘Your son will become a downright bastard,’ the old coot told my father. ‘And the greatness of his villainy will only be matched by his hairy, fat belly. He will not die unknown, of that you can be sure, but not a soul will mourn his passing either’. That was it. My father had paid his life savings to hear such words and there was no taking them back. Well, since he knew for certain that his son was going to grow up a wretched asshole, he obviously went on to treat him as such from the toddler up, never sparing his whip. Which probably had a bit of an effect in how I turned out. Funny how it works.”

“Yeah, so sorry for you, but you still didn’t answer the question.”

“But I did, you fool!” Raleigh howled. “Figure it for yourself! Why do you think I wear this stinky sack on my head, you daft assassin? To look evil and mad? ‘He will not die unknown’! Do you understand the power of the prophet’s words? I cannot die, no matter what, so long as my killer knows not my face! HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAH!”

“Oh wow, what a messed-up charm,” Izumi groaned. “But are you sure you should’ve told me? All that means is that I’ll have to pull off the sack first before I kill you again.”

“Don’t think it’s going to be that simple! You caught me by surprise once, but I can promise you, it will not be half as easy the next time. Know despair as you bleed out in agony, knowing your hope was within an arm’s reach, and yet much too far!”

Brandishing his axe, Raleigh took a step forward.

“If only I got a hundred yen each time I heard that...” Izumi sighed, measuring the borrowed soldier’s sword in her hand, before quickly correcting herself.

“I meant gold.”

Chapter 7: The Sable Spear Hunts a Blood-Red Trophy

1

The underground tunnel was dark and cramped, as memory foretold. Not quite high enough for an adult to stand upright, but maybe wide enough for two to go side-by-side. The smaller the tunnel, the easier it was to conceal, and it was never intended for heavy traffic in the first place. There were, now and in the past, people with unusually complicated backgrounds, who had to be moved from place to place away from prying eyes, and it was for the sake of their transportation that such secret passages were made and protected.

Although it was next to pitch black, Miragrave didn’t start a light but followed the path by feeling the coarse wall. Slowly, step by step, depending on her ears rather than her eyes. Regardless, her feet wouldn’t stumble on the unstable but familiar floor.

How long had it been since she had last used this passage, anyway?

Ten years? Eleven?

So much had happened in that relatively brief span of time, so much had changed, her days as recruit might as well have been in another life. This had been a convenient way to slip out of the garrison at night, for a quick visit to the nearby taverns. Although the commanding officers had to have known about it, the path was never guarded nor the adventurers punished. As with everything in the army, all was well so as long as no one was clumsy enough to get caught.

After about a hundred and sixty feet of cramped, bumpy dampness, the tunnel connected with a larger, stone-walled drainage pipe. Not that it served any real practical purpose. It was only the remaining stub of some ancient network, of which the rest had collapsed. There had been temporal plans to connect the pipe with the city’s sewer system again, but those plans were abandoned by the time the garrison was built.

Perhaps the army had set up a base here specifically for the presence of that useful passage, or perhaps the connecting tunnel had been added after the larger one’s coincidental discovery, or perhaps neither of those things had anything to do with each other, and it was all but a random sum of people’s blind fumbling through life.

At any rate, it was much easier to walk in the more spacious canal.

There was even some light coming in from the other end, allowing one to better perceive her surroundings and the faint, flaking patterns on the walls.

The tunnel went on, straight as an arrow, for about nine hundred feet, and ended in a rectangular room. Across the room, another tunnel started upward back to the surface again, outside the worn-out perimeter wall of the Gralia district. There ran the river Thuleios, which had once encircled the entirety of the capital, filling this space with water. But the drought of more recent times had caused the river to withdraw far from its former boundaries, making this link between the garrison and the outside world accessible.

Beyond awaited freedom.

The exit was never guarded or blocked, as there were no houses or people on the overgrown riverbank outside, and the terrain helped conceal it.

The room along the way was bare and simple, about forty feet wide, sixty long, with dried, hardened mud for a floor. Pillars of stone supported the ceiling, three in a row, four in a line, work of the tunnel’s past, unknown constructors. There were four narrow platforms on both sides of the room, next to low, barred holes in the walls, possibly to drain rainwater. Rusted, bent ladders took up to said platforms, some of them completely broken. Old, rotten junk, like broken crates, barrel frames, tattered sacks, and ropes were left lying here and there in the room, uniformly covered with dirt and filth. No one had ever thought of clearing them out.

There was a drop of nearly seven feet from the inner tunnel’s mouth. Considering the unreliable footing and the lack of ladders or stepping stones, shorter and less agile soldiers would need a companion to get back to the garrison again, giving them an incentive to share the information. On rainy days in particular, the edge tended to turn slippery, the climb next to impossible, in spite of its shortness.

Pausing at the mouth of the tunnel, Miragrave surveyed the room.

The daylight coming from the exit’s direction allowed her to see the space clearly enough, and it appeared to be empty. Not that she trusted her eyesight for a second. There were too many spots hidden from her point of view, behind all the pillars.

Dropping down, Miragrave readied herself and called out,

“Show yourself, Zaxon. You didn’t come here to play hide and seek with me.”

Shortly after she had said that, lights appeared.

Old torches hung high on the walls on rusted holders and they now all burst into flame at once. The sharp increase of lighting made the woman narrow her hurting eyes, but she resisted closing them.

From behind the pillars further back in the room, several figures stepped out to block her way.

Five armored soldiers of the garrison—as well as the missing champion of Tratovia’s fabled Guild...Shivgried of the Sable Spear, the Impaler.

“Forgive the theatrics,” Shivgried told her with a smug grin. “I simply couldn’t resist. I felt our reunion earlier was a little lacking in glamour. This is much better, don’t you think? Could there have been a more fitting place?”

“Leave here,” Miragrave told him. “Or it is your own funeral you’ve arranged.”

Shivgried’s good-humored smile vanished.

“Enough!” he shouted. “What is it that you’re fighting against!? Can you do nothing but deny and reject now, embittered and paranoid? The you of old would weep at the sight of what you’ve become! Cease with your fantasies of dispassionate chivalry! Even if you hate me so much, you should understand where you stand. Not even a knight anymore, you are but an outlaw in a decaying land! No honor awaits you out there, only misery, betrayal, and death! Only a fool would throw away help when it is offered in such a place! Take my hand, and I will guarantee your safety. Refuse, and again you will face the demise that you only just eluded. Be reasonable! This shouldn’t be a choice you need to mull over!”

As convincing as Shivgried saw his own argument, Miragrave only shook her head.

“There’s no reasoning with you, Zaxon,” she said. “Becoming yours could save my body, but the person inside would have died instead. Come, if there is no other way. I’ll put an end to your heart’s torment. As a favor to an old friend.”

“MIRAAAAAAAAA—!”

Letting out a powerless roar of frustration, the spearman shrieked at his men,

“Take her!”

As commanded, the knights raised their swords and cautiously stepped forward to corner and capture their lone target.

To break the line of sight and buy herself a moment to plan, Miragrave took cover behind the nearest stone pillar. Even in this desperate situation, her mind was quickly in search of a path out, if any existed. Subduing the primal fright of a cornered beast, with only the cold mind of a soldier, she went over the information she had gleaned.

Firstly, there was no shunning the facts.

There was only one way out of the room.

So long as Shivgried lived, escape from this predicament was unthinkable.

One way or the other, the opposition had to be eliminated or at least severely crippled. There were six enemies—no, seven of them. As a straightforward man of war, Shivgried wasn’t well-versed in magecraft. Rather, he openly despised it. Then who had lit the torches? Mages didn’t wear plate armor because iron interfered with their abilities. In other words, there had to be one more unseen enemy hiding in the room with them. Eliminating this support figure had to be prioritized, or else they could turn the tables on her at any moment.

So Miragrave would have done, had she still been the cadet from years past. Yes, she would have arrived at that conclusion faster, and reacted sooner.

However, experience soon extinguished the youthful urge to leap into action that this nostalgic place had lit within her. Shivgried knew all that she knew, and would therefore anticipate her movements. As little time as there was, she couldn’t afford to get careless. To overcome this foe, Miragrave had to take not one but two steps beyond the expectations.

Easier though it was said than done.

Predictable or not, to find any room to maneuver in this disadvantageous situation, a diversion had to be created first. Crouching, Miragrave drew swift letters onto the ground with her finger, and named them in succession,

“Thessil, sanaat, omer.”

The characters glowed faintly and the combination spell began to emit a thick, dull green smoke that expanded and spread, rapidly filling the whole underground room.

The use of smokescreen was one of the tactics that the cirelo guerrillas had taught the Imperials. It was quite ineffective against daemons, but indispensable in more conventional warfare. Officers had tried to teach the required runes at the Imperial Military Academy, but the mastery of them demanded a somewhat marginal potential for obfuscation which not many possessed. Using alchemical compounds was, while not as effective, a great deal faster and easier way to achieve the same result.

But Miragrave had been among the early generations to import this know-how, and now applied it with a steady hand.

Under the cover of the smoke, she left her hiding spot. Her bare feet made no audible sound on the soft ground, unlike the knights’ heavy boots and clanking armors. Still, even as she was aware of her opponents’ general positions and they remained oblivious of hers, she couldn’t afford to strike without a plan. One mistake, one careless sound, and they would trap her.

The irritated knights took blind swings, as if trying to cut down the magical mist, or perhaps hoping to reach their target by chance. The deadly whistling of steel slicing through the air echoed from the walls of stone.

Approaching them came at the risk of dreadful wounds and capture.

But, listening to those sounds, Miragrave soon spied an opening…

“Stop it, you idiots!” Shivgried shouted at the knights. It appeared he had remained behind to guard the exit. “You could kill her by accident! I told you I wanted her alive!”

“Alive?” One of the searching knights spitefully murmured, sweat dripping down his brow. “I’m not about to get gutted for your love affair...It’s the Red Fiend of the Stohenkartes! It’s either her or us, for fuck’s sake...Agh!”

At the same time, the knight felt something forcefully pull at his head. His helmet was violently yanked off his brow, and before he could react, the thief disappeared back into the smoke with it.

—“Hey!”

“You left the strap too loose,” a critical voice carried from the fog. “I could hear the helmet shifting on your head.”

“Damn it! Get back here and I’ll show you what’s loose!” The angry soldier pursued the voice. As certain as he had been that the prisoner was right in front of him, only a few steps away, he found nothing. The accursed smoke kept twirling around him, getting in his face. The man paused and tried to listen, but there was movement and noise everywhere around him in the mist.

Which of those sounds were his comrades and which the target…?

No matter how he pried his ears, it was quite impossible to tell.

A short distance away, another knight suddenly sensed a presence behind him.

Right as he thought to turn around and check, someone indeed patted lightly on the right pouldron.

“Just a bit to your right,” an effeminate but chilling voice whispered close to his ear.

Freaked out, the knight quickly spun around, swinging his sword sideways at the same time.

And he felt the tip of the blade connect too. How foolish had the enemy been, to play with fire!

However, the results were dramatically different from the expected.

“AAAAARRRRRRRGGHH—!”

A hair-raising scream, which by no means belonged to a woman, filled the room.

Instead of the escapee, the knight had ended up slashing his own comrade—the one who had lost his helmet and strayed from the formation. The sword blow had cut across the soldier’s face, cleaving both his cheek and nose, only a bit below the eyes. The agony had to have been terrible.

Realizing his mistake, the offender was momentarily paralyzed by a mixture of guilt, shame, and confusion. A moment too long. In that brief time, someone had slipped behind his back, swiped the utility knife from his belt, and sliced his neck from ear to ear, under the helmet’s rim.

“A—gl...!” The starting cry of horror was replaced by muffled choking.

The remaining three knights were quickly drawn to the noise and now gathered to find two dead bodies. In the limited visibility, one had to kneel close to examine the condition of the downed troops. Not that there was anything that could be done for them. Both were undeniably dead or seconds away from it. The one cut in the face had been finished off by a stab in the neck as well.

“Sir, they’re both dea—”

BAM. Turning to report the facts to his companions, the crouched knight was interrupted by the sound of a collision close by.

Someone had dashed from the fog and tackled one of the nearby soldiers from behind, pushing him over. After this seemingly random act of mischief, the assailant kept running and disappeared again, the shifting smoke veiling her path.

“Aw, shit!” the fallen knight swore. He tried to get back up again, but a nasty flash of pain from his side made him drop back down. “Aaargh!”

The wounded knight tried his lower back and retracted his gauntlet to find it stained red. It hadn’t been simple harassment. The knife, stolen from one of the deceased, had been embedded in the knight’s flesh, forced through the chestplate's back seam by the full-body collision.

“Shit, shit, I’ve been hit!” he shouted, swallowing the sense of panic climbing up his throat.

“Sergeant, hold on, we’re coming to you!”

The other two approached their downed comrade.

“No!” he shouted back at them. “Don’t move! Stay right where you are and keep your eyes open! She’s coming—”

—“AAAAH!”

His warning came too late.

They had moved exactly according to predictions and Miragrave wasn’t going to wait for them to realize their mistake. She sprinted past the knights again, and, as she passed, cut at the back of the other's knee with a sword claimed from the dead. The slash across the uncovered part above the boot rim crippled the soldier on the spot. Gripping his torn leg with both hands, he fell groaning on the ground.

Miragrave didn’t repeat the hit-and-run maneuver from the beginning, but simply turned around after the successful assault, and faced the last standing troop head on. As soon as he turned around to aid his fallen ally, he faced the flash of steel diving through the green fog. A muffled sound of torn metal rang out, like from a can being opened, as the sword was stopped by his chestplate collar, after slashing open the side of his neck.

In short order, Shivgried’s squad had been taken out, and their prey slipped back into the dense mist.

Instead of seeking to eliminate the tactical support, the enemy had chosen to defy the superior numbers directly—who could have expected such a reckless approach?

But in light of this turn of events, what good had that support been, anyway?

“What are you doing you mage bastard!” the downed sergeant called out in anger and despair. “Get rid of this fucking shit already or we’re all going to die down here!”

“No!” Shivgried heard him and shouted instead. “Don’t show yourself, you fool!”

But the panic of the dying knights was infectious.

Feeling responsible for the tragedy unfolding before him, the Magic Corporal hiding on a platform by the east-side wall made up his mind. He had been ordered to stand still until he had the target in his sights, but that order seemed only senseless now. He had to help his comrades, somehow. Situations changed, surely he had to depend on his own judgment. What good was his power, if all he could do was watch!

Therefore, though the nature of the odd fog was unknown to him, he valiantly stepped out from behind the rubble, and spread his hands.

“Ilomené! Tae propesto ilomené—!”

The mage was still young, inexperienced. He had assumed that just as he couldn’t see into the mist below, he couldn’t be seen or attacked through it either. On top of that, he was the only one with ranged attack capability in the room. So he had thought. Such false sense of security was regrettably common among troops specializing in the seemingly all-able arcane arts.

However, the mage’s clear voice was all that was needed for the enemy to pinpoint his position in such a limited space. Before he could finish his incantation, a sword came flying from the smoke and hit him in the face. The wound wasn’t fatal, only the handle part connected, but nevertheless, mauled and stunned, the mage stumbled over the ledge and further hurt himself in the fall.

One by one, the opposition had been taken down and a disorienting silence followed.

Shivgried Zaxon stood at the entrance of the tunnel taking outside, at the green fog’s limit, listening to the disconcerting sounds coming from the room, his frown and dejection worsening by the minute.

Somewhere within, he had anticipated this outcome.

He had wished for a different result, of course, but was hardly surprised to witness that groundless wish boil down to nothing. Even though he had been blessed with great luck himself, that luck could not be shared with others, as he had learned so many times in the past.

Shivgried knew he should have brought more men, more skilled ones, but the fear of his target perishing in their hands had made him decide against it. Not that more capable reinforcements could be acquired on such short notice either. Only an elite could be counted on to take down an elite, but there was no way to ascertain which knights he could depend on, and which were liable to join the Colonel instead.

In short, this conclusion had been nothing short of unavoidable.

The pawns had failed him.

But the man himself wasn’t defeated.

He never could be.

“So, this is how it ends, Marafel?” Shivgried spoke to the smoke, gripping his weapon. “This is how you want it? Your sword against my spear? Your blood or mine, which will be spilled? If that’s what you think—just how foolish can you get, woman!”

There came no answer.

The room ahead was quiet and still.

“You should realize your smokescreen only works in my favor,” Shivgried continued. “Should I cast Lanhglid here, it will fall upon you by a divine necessity. And then you will die, your life running out of you, while you could’ve been filled by it instead. Is that the ending you wish for? Come out!”

—“You needn’t shout, Zaxon. I’m right here.”

Unexpectedly, Miragrave stepped out from the already fading smokescreen of her own volition. She had picked up a new sword for herself and faced the remaining enemy, not allowing a hint of her pain and fatigue to show on her countenance. The sight of her only made the bitterness within Shivgried grow sourer.

“Would it have been so awful?” the spearman asked her. “Becoming mine? Or did you already swear yourself to another man? To who is this oath that binds you? Who stole your heart, while I wasn’t looking? Tell me, so that I may slay that coward and prove myself the better man, beyond any sliver of a doubt.”

“Defeat me and I will tell you,” Miragrave raised her sword before her face, nodded in a formal bow, and charged.

Foolish, Shivgried thought as he watched her advance, dejected.

Doing something so incredibly stupid wasn’t like her.

Beyond his unnatural luck and weapon, he held the advantage in speed, strength, reach, stamina, and experience—she had to have known that.

Miragrave’s chances of emerging victorious in a straightforward duel were nonexistent. Perhaps she was counting on the magecraft she had learned in the elven land to protect her? Perhaps she would depend on another mischievous trick, try to distract him, and then make her escape. Or was she simply counting on his personal feelings to become his undoing, spoil his timing at the crucial moment, allowing her to narrowly overcome him?

Never. It wouldn’t happen.

The difference in their ability wasn’t that slim.

A part of the man did indeed wish for such a weakness to exist in him. He wished his heart would allow him to give up his life for the sake of an unrequited affection, perish for such a poetic reason, and never walk another battlefield again.

But—it truly was impossible.

His body itself, forged in the crucibles of total war, could never accept defeat for such a trifling, simple reason. For no other reason but being thoroughly outclassed in earnest feats of arms. Regardless of even his own conscious will, his hands would respond to any threat, counter any blow, claim the life of the enemy, and then deliver their owner to another day of battle.

Because such was the only life that Shivgried had known.

As soon as she would step into his range, his spear would claim her life—there was no question of it, no way this destiny could be overturned.

Even as rage and regret tortured his spirit, the cursed spear felt light in his grip, his muscles relaxed. And, as if completely oblivious to the danger, to her own inadequacy, Miragrave dived within the reach of that cruel barb.

His keen eyes followed her, anticipated her.

Knowing the counter would come from the left, Miragrave would attempt to deflect it and evade to the right, then to slash at his exposed neck. Exactly like they taught at the Academy. Like they rehearsed in training, countless times. Miragrave Marafel had been an exemplary soldier for all her life, and even her end would be exemplary, a classic. The mistake of living by the book. Her only flaw had been her inability to rise above her duty, therefore becoming trapped by it.

Whereas Shivgried had abandoned that duty, to transcend the limits of chivalry, of humanity.

The counter would not come to where she was—but where she was going to be.

Impossibly swift, irresistibly deadly.

Sensing the correct timing by experience, Shivgried’s arms moved.

The black spear bit through the air with almost playful lightness, like a hunting viper, as if to belittle the negligible weight of life. There was no way human eye could follow the spear’s course at this distance.

As soon as the attack was initiated, it was already over.

The subtle, revolting sound of metal sinking into soft flesh—And with that, the outcome of this confrontation, set to stone well before the combatants were in place, was enacted in full.

“What——?” Shivgried’s frown deepened still.

It went exactly as he had foreseen.

He had been correct yet again.

But…

“There was a time, when I would not have minded becoming yours, Zaxon,” Miragrave spoke with effort, dropping her sword. “I was hardly picky. But really, I am no queen either. Nor do I want to be. I could never imagine happiness in being taken for a trophy, to be won and flaunted. Before a woman, I am a soldier. And I happen to take great pride in my work. It was only to be rated for my ability before my looks that I yearned. Yet, because of that...it seems my career is the only spouse I will find in this life.”

"Why...?”

Shivgried had clearly won. His spear had pierced clean through the woman. It was her blood being shed, while he remained perfectly uninjured, in control. But she wasn’t dead. At the same time, for some inexplicable reason, the champion of Tratovia was overcome with the crippling sensation that he had lost.

Her heart.

In both body and spirit, he had failed to reach Miragrave’s heart.

Somehow, he had miscalculated. The spear had stabbed through the side, an inch or two below the ribs. Death wasn’t instant.

“You never had any intention of dodging it!?” he gasped. “You resolved to die!? You—you madwoman!”

“...How to evade the spear that pierces anything it hits, wielded by a man who never misses?” Miragrave reflected. “The answer is obvious: ‘you cannot’. But I could decide where it will land. Being unable to see that, thinking I only cared about my own survival—there was your mistake.”

Grabbing the spear, resisting the abominable pain, Miragrave dragged herself closer to her foe.

Shivgried could still win. All he had to do was let go of the weapon and retreat.

But at the same time, he knew—if he did so, if he retreated but one step from here, then what he had fought for all his life would be obliterated. Once lost, it could never again be reclaimed.

After that, what would he have left to live for?

Nothing. Not one thing.

He had bet everything he was on this one strike, and with its failure, his defeat was sealed. All he could do now was face his fate, as much as he abhorred it, lest he be left but a hollow shell of a man.

“Here. My souvenir to you from Ledarnia. Take it and be free of pain, old friend.” Reaching forward, Miragrave held her hand against Shivgried’s chest and drew a pattern onto his body with her blood-stained finger, then naming it.

“Yodith.”

The rune glowed faintly. Shortly after, green flames spread from the eerie letter, engulfing and devouring the form of Shivgried, whom they called the Impaler.

——“AAAAAAAIIIIEIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...!”

There was no heat from those flames to be felt. They gave off no smoke either. Nevertheless, with ferocity far above ordinary fire, they consumed the sacrifice presented to them, down to the bone, down to the soul. Shortly, the thoroughly incinerated hand clutching the spear broke off and crumbled away. Where one of the champions of Tratovia’s infamous Guild had stood was now only a shallow pile of pure white ash.

Miragrave looked up along the ascending tunnel ahead, at the end of which comforting daylight shone. She was too tired to think about how close she had been to escape. No, she had never seen a way out in the first place. Her only goal had been to clear the path for the one coming after her. Whether she died now or tomorrow or ten years from now, it made no difference at all.

With this, her last duty was done.

She thought about dragging herself outside, to the banks of the Thuleios, to see the sky above her home city one last time, but the climb looked unreasonably long and she felt immeasurably tired.

Quietly sinking to her knees, tasting blood in her mouth, Miragrave made a self-deriding smile and closed her eyes.

“I’ve kept you waiting, Thalinn...”

Relaxing, the woman let herself sink limply forward.

——But before she met the ground, her fall was stopped by someone’s outreached arm.

“Hey, hey, that’s not how you hold a weapon!” An alarmed voice spoke next to her.

“...Faster than I expected.” Miragrave forced a grunt and slightly opened her eyes. “Nothing ever goes as planned with you, does it…?”

“Um, I’m no medical professional,” Izumi said, crouching next to the woman, trying to keep her upright. “But you probably shouldn’t talk much right now. Save your strength! I should...er, what should I do? They don’t teach about swallowing spears on First Aid!”

Ignoring her, Miragrave continued with a muffled chuckle,

“Come to think of it, it was the same when we first met...It seems all you ever do is betray my expectations...Not that I can blame you. No, if anything, I’m grateful. For giving me the chance...to go out...like a soldier.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Aah, after how hard I tried to avoid this...! You and I are going to have to have an in-depth discussion about this thing called ‘teamplay’ after.”

“No...I think there won’t be any ‘after’...”

“Shush. Zip it!” Izumi berated the woman, while frantically trying to think. “I’m not giving up on you that easily. That’s right. The party members that are the hardest to recruit are always the best. But what am I going to do…? I can’t carry you like this and neither can I leave you here...Okay. There’s no choice. Don’t need a surgeon to tell it’s a really, really bad idea, but it’s clear I’m gonna have to pull this thing off, as is. It’s probably going to hurt a whole lot too. You might wanna bite something other than your tongue. Let’s see...”

“Don’t bother.” Miragrave’s eyes were slowly closing. “You’ve done enough. You should go…before it’s too late...”

“The first thing we do after we get out of here is find you a therapist. Seriously.”

“Hnh. Did I ever tell you you’re pretty amusing for a woman...Had you been born male, I might have even...”

“Tell me later. Chew this for a sec.”

Izumi took off her leather belt and stuffed it between Miragrave’s jaws. Then, supporting the woman upright with her let arm, Izumi gripped the spear with her right hand and double-checked the angle.

“Alright. Here goes nothing. Hold your breath. One...two...”

In one unhesitating, lightning-fast yank, Izumi drew out the spear and tossed it away. Fortunately, the weapon was smooth all around, without irregular edges or barbs that might have torn the wound wider. Nevertheless, a rather startling amount of blood gushed immediately out of the opened cavity, which Izumi hurried to cover with her hand.

“There, it wasn’t so bad, was it?” Izumi pressed the wound and asked the patient.

In vain. Miragrave had passed out.

“How much red stuff is there in the human body, anyway...?”

They had to get away from the garrison area and any enemy mages, before Izumi could attempt to contact Carmelia. But while carrying the prisoner was now easier, it was quite likely that Miragrave was going to bleed out long before they could reach outside. Any forceful motion would only worsen the damage…The situation seemed hopeless.

Giving up then and there could have been the most humane option.

Still, leaving without even trying wasn’t an option to Izumi. The wealth of rather questionable movie know-how that took up her memory space in place of more useful ideas offered at least one solution to the dire emergency.

Quickly weighing her options, Izumi gave the unconscious woman an apologetic look.

“Oh, you won’t thank me for this when the beach episode airs...”

2

Yuliana carefully avoided looking in the windows’ direction. This particular room was located on top of the westernmost tower appendix at the Imperial Palace. It was so high up that from her position in the middle of the room, she could only see clouds drifting in the blue sky, and not a single other building. Why such a place? Only for more needless ceremonies? The princess had never been fond of high places, despite being a resident of a castle herself. Simply picturing the drop awaiting beyond those thin walls made the floor sway in her vision.

Directing her attention away from the heavens, Yuliana gazed sternly ahead instead. A step away from where she stood was a small, white stone table, perfectly circular in shape, with a single document placed on a little wooden stand.

Detailed on that paper were the specifics of the oath she was to take.

From the moment of that contract’s signing, the princess would devote herself to converting her own parent as the ally of a foreign state—or else overthrow him and take his role by force.

There was a third option as well.

Perish away in the failure of the attempt or the outright refusal of it.

Which meant, besides her own death, the death of Miragrave Marafel, and a war between Langoria and Tratovia, which would mean tens of thousands of casualties, masses of homeless refugees, poverty, famine, and the eventual enslavement of her people.

The crown princess of Langoria had left her kingdom with the sole objective of saving it. And yet, everywhere she went, powers were compelling her to bring ruin to it instead.

From the beginning, had she perhaps misunderstood what it meant to save nations?

What was a “kingdom”, anyway?

Was it her people?

Was Langoria where the Langorians were, even if they were to be chased out of their homes? Would the nation follow where they went, to be re-established wherever they chose to stay? Was the kingdom in their blood, to be inherited by their descendants?

Or was it the land?

Was anyone who settled within Langorian’s geographic constraints eligible to be called a “Langorian”? Even if they were foreigners, even if they were enemies, even if they weren’t humans at all, could they still, in so choosing, claim the nation as their home, and become its representatives in the world?

Or was the answer something more abstract?

An identity, a formless impression? Something that borrowed from both of the preceding ideas, held it together, ultimately without being restrained by either?

In the end, what had Yuliana been trying to save?

Her people? Her land? Her family?

Or just herself?

Isn’t the truth that I was only ever escaping my own shame?

But through her decision here, she could still save human lives. Langoria would at least be given more time before another war would scorch its green pastures. And the person she had idolized since youth would escape a horrendous death. Wasn’t her own personal freedom a small price to pay for that?

—“Your highness,” the Emperor of Tratovia spoke to her, standing by the table. “I trust that you have read the contents of this document by now. Once signed, it is binding until the end of the current cycle. Beyond death, but not further than that. For what comes after this age, not even the Lords may know. Though the effective time isn’t long, I expect that you take this contract with the level of seriousness it commands.”

“Of course,” Yuliana replied and took a step forward. “And I expect that you will do the same. Call off Colonel Marafel’s execution. Stall it, postpone it indefinitely, whatever you do, save my dear friend. And keep your word that the civilian population of Langoria will not be harmed. Otherwise this document is null and void, and your majesty a renegade without honor.”

“You have my word,” the man replied, as if the feat was indeed nothing to him. “As you can see, my signature is already there. All the gias requires is your mark to complete it and become instantly binding.”

He was telling the truth. Another name was written above the line beside the one Yuliana was to write hers. The oath was meticulously prepared, all in all, and unexpectedly fair. As far as Yuliana could see, there were no obvious loopholes that could have allowed an immediate betrayal of the stated goals.

If not for just one: it being highly stylized, the Emperor’s signature was illegible. There was a chance that she was being deceived...But did she really have a choice?

The oath he was trying to bind her with, she already carried.

All she was doing was buying time, to keep him from realizing—to change his mind, before he would rule hers.

Had it all been in vain...?

Yuliana picked up a fountain pen left near the stand.

There was no need to sign in blood, the correctness of the spelling was unimportant as well; the gesture was all that mattered. So long as she would leave an identifying mark—any kind of a mark—as a token of her voluntary agreement, the gias would be sealed.

Yuliana briefly hesitated before bringing down her hand.

The fear of what should follow gripped her.

The fear of the unknown.

But what can I do? There is...no...other...way...!

“Hm?”

At that moment, an odd sound caught Yuliana's attention, halting her pen hand once more. There was strange noise coming from the staircase just outside the room. As if someone clad in heavy armor was climbing up in a great hurry, tripping and stumbling along the way. Even the oak door was powerless to hide the rustling and clanking. Before the princess could imagine the cause, the door was already rashly thrown open, and a knight officer pushed his way in.

Drawing only a quick breath, the frenzied knight started his message,

“Your majesty, a mutiny! There’s been a mutiny! Knights’ve rebelled at the execution grounds, with several casualties, and many prisoners...have...esc—huh?”

Seeing the people in the room, the knight trailed off. As if he had found himself in the wrong room altogether, he looked helplessly from side to side, dumbstruck.

“Did I not say we aren’t to be disturbed!” The Emperor hollered at the soldier and his enraged countenance was terrible to look at.

“What—I...Ah...”

The knight wavered in the doorway, his gaze shifting between the Emperor and the princess, his mouth opening and closing like that of a fresh fish on a cutting board.

Too late. The damage was already done.

By what little he had spilled, Yuliana had already surmised more or less the whole course of events and all it implied. Even while she was being coerced to prevent it, the executions were already underway. But not everything had gone according to plan.

So very nearly she had been tricked.

Yet at the last possible moment, the treachery of her opponent had turned against him.

Slowly, Yuliana faced the Emperor, unable to hide the spiteful smile making its way on her tired face. In one instant, their roles had been reversed, his hold over her broken. Raising the fountain pen up before the helpless man's face, she let it slide through her fingers and fall onto the floor with a light click.

A winner this day, the princess marched out of the room, the confused knight scrambling to make her way.

3

The sun was already about to sink beyond the mountains under the deep red hue of the eastern sky, when Court Wizard Carmelia finally emerged from the chamber set up as an ex tempore operating room. Waiting in the hallway where shadows cast by golden lamps danced on the wildly patterned walls, Izumi and young Benjamin Watts stood up from their chairs to meet her.

“The operation was successful,” the cirelo sorceress reported in her unemotional tone. “Her condition remains critical but stable for now. The rest will depend on her will to live, I suppose.”

Carmelia had been unwilling to use up the last remaining vial of the priceless Red Serum, and the rare gift of healing magic she had traded away when taking the path of a cursed oathmaker. Instead of depending on the arcane arts, she had operated the badly wounded Colonel with more conventional methods, by herself. Considering for how long the cirelo had studied humans and their anatomy, however, she was doubtless more skilled in the craft than any local practitioner of medicine. Understanding this, Izumi could voice no complaints.

For once, her good faith had been rewarded too, it seemed.

“Thank goodness for that,” Benjamin sighed. “Who would’ve thought Marafel was compatible with my blood type? After making me donate such a shocking amount of it, she had better recover quickly. Now, if you excuse me, I shall celebrate her survival with a hearty meal and a good night’s sleep. Hyawn!”

“Don’t forget the herbal medicine I left for you,” Carmelia reminded him.

“Must I drink it? The smell is—I don’t feel all that bad, I should be fine without...”

“Drink it, or you will regret it in the morning.”

“Doctor’s orders,” Izumi nodded.

“You two never miss a chance to make my life difficult, do you?” Benjamin grimaced and left.

Izumi then turned back to Carmelia.

“I’m sorry to bring you more work, but...thank you,” she said with a bit pained smile. “I’m sure Yule will give you a big thanks too, when you see her. She might even go for a hug, so watch out.”

“Save your gratitude,” Carmelia shook her head. “I had my reasons to help the Colonel, and she is not out of death’s shadow just yet. Even in the event that she pulls through, she will be bedridden for weeks, if not months. And need I to remind you that we are far from safe ourselves, playing this dangerous game behind the Emperor’s back. The tide could turn on us at any moment, and by then, all our noble efforts will have been in vain. You would do well to consider this the next time you choose to act on your own and meddle in other people’s lives.”

“Let's worry about that when the time comes,” Izumi dismissed the sorceress’s warnings. “And even if things do go south one day, it won’t undo the good deeds of here and now. So I’ll make you take my thanks whether you want them or not. I’m grateful! Really, really grateful. If I weren’t too scared of being turned into a frog, I’d totally give you a kiss!”

Carmelia averted her face, unusually awkward before Izumi’s happy smile.

However, her mood soon changed and she faced the woman again with a rather intense look in her vermilion eyes.

“Setting our dark future aside, there is another matter of grave importance we need to discuss.”

“We do?” Izumi tilted her head. “It’s not about me acting without orders, is it? Can’t you just let me off the hook this once? It’s not like I’m some rank-and-file trooper, or at least I never agreed to be such. All’s well that ends well, wouldn’t you say? I know I shouldn’t have, but I’ve no regrets.”

“While your irresponsible behavior is indeed problematic and against better judgment, that isn’t what I mean,” Carmelia replied. “Rather than what you did today, it’s about how you did it. About the things that were revealed in the process, about yourself.”

“Me?” the woman pointed at herself, oblivious.

The cirelo stepped closer and leaned over, close enough to force Izumi to bend back to avoid their noses touching.

“Marafel’s wound—you burned it close with the rune of ignition. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? You never told me you were able to use magic. Why did you withhold such crucial information from me?”

“Eh?” Izumi shifted uncomfortably at Carmelia’s accusing words, avoiding her stare. “I didn’t mention it before?”

“You did not.”

“M-must’ve slipped my mind! Ahaha! Well, strictly speaking, I can’t use whatever magic. Just runes. And I’ve only learned one rune so far, so I didn’t think it was worth bragging about. I mean, you can’t call yourself a chef, if you barely know how to cook rice seasoned with soy sauce, right? I know how to make tamagokake rice, at least!”

“Don’t change the subject. I was under the impression that those summoned from the other world were entirely unable to cast spells of any variety. How come you are an exception? When and how did you find that you had such an ability?”

“Eeeh...that’s...” Izumi struggled to answer.

Was it okay to tell the truth?

The truth, that within Yuliana’s body lived the spirit of a Divine Lord, who had granted Izumi the arcane potential.

But it had also been mentioned that possession of humans was considered a taboo, a violation of the ever-important Covenant...True enough, the Lords of Bhastifal had broken this rule themselves, but referring to their poor example was perhaps not a good excuse.

Could this revelation bring more trouble for Yuliana in the long run? How would other people react if they learned that the equivalent of a goddess lived within the girl? Moreover, one that was a sociopath bent on subjugating the known world? How would the sorceress react? Even if they were allies now, trusting Carmelia unconditionally with every matter didn’t seem very smart.

Worse yet, Aiwesh herself probably wouldn’t be too happy with Izumi’s loose tongue either. The Divine hadn’t expressly prohibited Izumi from telling anyone about her presence, but neither was she all that reasonable with her expectations in general.

Of all the people and entities in this world, Izumi was most dependent on the Lord of Light. Not only did Aiwesh have the power to kill the woman on a whim, she could make Izumi’s daily life on Ortho extremely difficult simply by removing her blessings—literacy and runes.

It was better not to risk angering her.

“...I can’t tell you how I got this power—if I were to answer that way, would you take it?”

Not answering, Carmelia continued to stare at Izumi.

Skilled magicians were able to peer into people’s minds...Izumi swallowed nervously and looked away, wondering if she would unwittingly betray the answer. Or how she was habitually trying to imagine how the sorceress looked naked. She was in big trouble either way.

However, to Izumi’s fortune, Carmelia wouldn’t probe her further.

“I already know you are not one to hide things out of malice,” the sorceress said, pulling back and turning away. “We shall return to this topic another time. For now, I am going to have a long night ahead of me—as this abrupt revelation changes everything for us.”

“Everything?”

“Yes. Return to your chamber and rest for the day. And rest well. For starting tomorrow morning, I am going to shape you into a blade that will cut off Heaven’s Hand.”

“Eh...what?”

Only with those portentous words, unwilling to explain them further, the sorceress left.

Chapter 8: The Conspirators Come Up With a Trump Card

1

It was the dawn of the fifth day since they had come to the capital. The sixth day of the week, of which only two more remained. And for the third time now, Yuliana was summoned to have breakfast with the lord of the western continent.

Sitting at her end of the table was no longer an insecure, hesitant girl. She had scored an important point over her mighty opponent, at the most crucial moment, and it showed in the defiant composure she exhibited while cutting through her slice of toast.

Judging by his majesty's continued silent treatment, Yuliana had guessed yesterday's untold events correctly. A mutiny at the execution grounds could only mean that the Colonel's fellow knights had helped her escape death. And as his majesty hadn't tried to repeat the threat, the army had apparently been unable to recapture the escapees.

In other words, both of the princess's friends had been stolen from the Emperor’s grip.

Even if they weren’t perfectly safe, for the time being, he wouldn’t be able to coerce Yuliana through blatant blackmail. She couldn't recall her shoulders feeling this light in a long time.

“The tea is quite excellent,” Yuliana said. “My regards to the chef.”

The man seated opposite of her had yet to touch his meal.

The Emperor sat with a poor posture, leaning on his elbows, fingers crossed, a difficult look on his exhausted face, and wouldn’t speak. Then, after quite some time, he finally found his words.

“It seems we got off to a poor start,” he said.

“Oh, you think? How so?” Yuliana asked in an innocent tone.

“I very much sought an alliance with you, but before I realized, we had become enemies instead.”

“How could that be, I wonder?”

“Perhaps there may yet be a way to redeem this sorry state of affairs?”

“You mean, you are now ready to behave like a civilized person, instead of lying, threatening, intimidating, and manipulating the prisoner at your mercy?”

“I am trying to save the world,” the Emperor argued.

“If so, then are your methods not a little lacking? In humanity, at least? What is your majesty trying to save, anyway? That is a question I’ve asked of myself countless times up until this very point. I confess my thoughts on the matter have been somewhat unclear as well, but I feel I’ve come across a very important point in these past few days.”

“And that is?”

“We cannot save anyone else if we are too busy trying to save ourselves.”

“Neither may we save anyone if we are dead,” he retorted.

“You should not presume yourself dead while your heart still beats. That is where all our problems begin, don’t you think? You plan by the negative. ‘Unless I do this, I will die’. ‘Unless I do that, my people will die’. ‘Unless I kill, I shall be killed.’ For a moment there, I nearly ended up going down that very same path. It is very lucrative, yes, being a pragmatist. But at the end of the day, none of this changes the reality that human lives are lost all the same. Then what does it change? Is your self-proclaimed ideal of saving all not only hypocrisy then, if not an outright lie?”

“Some would argue that sacrificing the minority to save the majority is the only correct course of action in our situation.”

“And I would argue that you are too quick to give up. How about you try and start to think of things in another way instead: ‘if I do like this, everyone—myself included—may live on in peace’. ‘If I do that, then perhaps she will forgive me, and we may begin to work on this together, as we should have done from the very beginning.’ Are two heads not better than one? Perhaps the situation is not quite as hopeless as you think it is? How do you like the sound of that? Take a little leap of faith? Your majesty?”

The Emperor leaned back, letting himself sink lower in his chair.

He seized his tea cup, as if hoping it contained something stronger than the Acalbain blend from Estua, and thoughtfully shook the cup from side to side.

“Late last night,” he spoke after a long moment of silence. “I found an invitation card left at my work desk. A certain Marquess De La Cartá, one of the more reputable aristocrats in the Empire, is hosting a party to commemorate his sixtieth birthday at the Tenessia Cathedral across the river, tomorrow evening. I had planned to decline the invitation at first, but perhaps it comes at an opportune moment, after all.”

Looking up, the man made eye contact with the princess.

“Your highness. What do you say, we start over? Forget these heavy matters for one day, and take that time to learn to know each other better? I admit I have indeed made a mistake in thinking that I could force my will onto you. I unwittingly took you for but another flower from a faraway kingdom, the likes of which I’ve seen too many, and felt the importance and urgency of our cause justified trampling over your personal feelings. And I apologize for that. I see now that this is a matter, where building mutual trust and understanding is of the essence. If you would be so kind as to accompany me to Marquess De La Cartá’s celebration, I shall do the utmost in my power to make up for my mistakes.”

Yuliana listened to him in silence, before answering,

“It is a tall hurdle you have raised for yourself. But are you not only once again dictating your will to me?”

“A proposal,” he stressed. “Which you are fully entitled to decline, if you so wish. Of course.”

The obvious effort it took for him to say that made it hard for Yuliana to hide her smile. At least he was willing to fake it, if nothing else. After the disappointment she had given him yesterday, she had anticipated much colder treatment. If not outright torture and imprisonment. But, seeing his majesty’s clumsy attempts at diplomacy, in spite of everything, Yuliana wondered if he wasn't actually being sincere. Could any evil mastermind be so awkward?

This was an opportunity for the both of them, and Yuliana had no reason or intention to refuse it. Although, she wouldn’t be that quick to trust him either.

Now that Yuliana thought about it, it was a little strange. The power the Emperor had tried to exert over her yesterday, he already held, albeit unknowingly. Even now, Yuliana should have been bound by a gias to never oppose the Emperor’s will or interests. And yet, his words so far had borne no magical compulsion for her. How could that be?

Had Lord Aiwesh’s growing power unraveled the bind of the gias?

Or—did the Emperor’s true intent not match the expressed?

Perhaps at heart, the idea of compelling her by force was not what he wanted, and it restrained him. Despite his harsh manner of speech and intimidating appearance, it seemed he was a man of some honesty on the inside. This perception encouraged Yuliana.

Even after everything, perhaps there was still a way for them to see eye-to-eye?

She would pin her hopes on that idea, tomorrow night.

2

At the age of thirty-eight, Itaka Izumi found herself returned to school. Seated in a spacious room resembling an earthly classroom to a disorienting degree, a genuine blackboard before her eyes, she was to receive lessons that would have made any average teenager from her home world leap in joy.

Lessons in the esoteric arts.

However, Izumi had left teenage behind already a long while ago, and the poor associations with the classrooms of the past left her rather anxious, even under these dream-like conditions. The early timing took its toll as well. Somehow, it becoming real had an uncanny tendency to ruin even the sweetest fantasies.

Stepping in front of the blackboard was Izumi’s teacher today—the timeless, black-clad figure of Court Wizard Carmelia, who also had the mystical ability to suck out all childish joy and excitement from her surroundings with her commanding, austere presence. Though Izumi had become more familiar with the sorceress over the course of the week, and knew there was a reasonable person within, that didn't change the reality that Carmelia's presence was almost violently heavy and inhuman. A far cry from the soft, inviting video game elves.

Despite carrying out such a tasking surgical operation last night, there was no trace of exhaustion visible on the gloomy cirelo’s beautiful features. Certainly, there were never dark circles under her eyes. After going on living for thousands of years, staying up for a few days was probably not an effort worth mentioning. Did her kind even need sleep to begin with?

Today, the sorceress was to teach Izumi about runes.

“We do not have the time to educate you from the ground up,” Carmelia told her. “The fundamentals of runes, their origins, classifications, degrees, sizes, ranks, tendencies, affinities, seasons, or correct stroke orders...Normally, mastering all this would take several decades of diligent study, and that would only cover the essentials. There is a great significance to which rune is used at which time of the day, under which phase of the moons, in association with which element, and so on. Countless variables affect the magnitude of the resulting phenomenon, but delving into such matters right now is naturally not possible to us. So the lesson I will give you will be brief, limited, and cruelly undetailed.”

“Well, I’m not all that sorry about it, to be honest,” Izumi said.

Ignoring her, the Court Wizard continued.

“I have taken the liberty of designing for you a secula sonatea, or ‘an arc of alignment’, a runic tool used by our kind in the past. You will spend this day memorizing the runes I’ve selected for the arc and their feasible combinations, after which we will go on to test them in practice. If there are any you cannot use, I will replace them, and we will try again.”

“Okay. Before we get started, a question, sensei!” Izumi raised her hand, like a school girl.

“What is it?”

“I really have to go to the toilet, can I? I know I just went, but my bladder’s like this every morning, I can’t help it.”

“…….”

“I-I’ll bear with it for a little while longer. What is that arc thing then? Some kind of a weapon? I have to say I didn’t understand a word about that just now.”

Keeping her face masterfully neutral, Carmelia explained,

“Secula Sonatea is, in essence, a personalized collection of runes. They are words of power that are of particular value to adepts in their daily lives, and are therefore attuned for heightened ease of access. In the past, it was a mark by which one would know a true professional.”

“Oh, I get it. So, it’s basically like making hotkeys for video game actions?”

“…….”

“Don’t look at me like that! Just talking to myself, forget about it!”

“Normally,” the sorceress went on, “runes are selected for the arc based on their affinity with the caster, how well they complement you and assist with your labors. A classical secula sonatea brings its holder to a state where they enhance the world around them with every breath they take. Such was the ideal of the emiri of old, in the days now forgotten. Runes of the arc would be implemented one by one, only after the apprentice has thoroughly mastered the uses of each, thus proving herself worthy of taking on a new divine mystery. Never was the arc to be used for war. Never was it to be taught to those uninitiated to the Mysterium Rites, let alone to the lesser races. But the times are trying, and in your case, we must forgo tradition. Hardly the worst of our rules that I have broken.”

Carmelia paused, with a look of momentary self-reproach, before resuming,

“I have selected the runes for you exclusively based on their usefulness in combat. To create a balance of offense and defense, to maximize your innate talents, based on what I have seen of you, and ultimately, to defeat Waramoti with his divine blessings. Whether you have any affinity with the chosen words or not, we will have to test them to find out.”

“Are there any setbacks to using runes that don’t suit you?” Izumi asked.

“In case of individual runes, no. They simply will not work or the effect will be diminished. However, when activating multiple words simultaneously, the resulting effects may sometimes interfere with each other and become...unpredictable. Occasionally, they may even be reversed. A spell to reinforce the flesh may wind up rending it instead. But I have analyzed the results of your medical examination, made you ingest numerous affinity-improving concoctions, and designed your arc with particular care. These runes are relatively basic and simple. So long as you learn them properly, only use them the way I tell you to, and do not include any personal additions, there should be no danger of lasting damage.”

“Right...So there is a danger of taking some damage?”

“We will begin by studying balancing runes,” Carmelia yet again ignored the remark, “then move onto grounding and modifying runes, and lastly, executive runes. We’re starting with the list I have here, their forms, meanings, readings, and correct intonation, after which I will test you to see how well you’ve retained them. Based on the results, we will review where necessary.”

“I get quizzed on the first day!?” Izumi gasped.

“Do your best to memorize them all by noon. I want to conduct the first practical tests as soon as possible, so that there is time left to make adjustments. This is the first time I have made the arc for a human, and one from another world at that, so there is no way to predict how well it will serve.”

“You’re working me like a dog here!” Izumi wailed. “It’s been twenty years since I last went to class! I’m already old and daft even by human standards, so go easy on me!”

“As much as I’d like to, have you already forgotten about the time limit?” Carmelia replied without mercy. “The day after tomorrow is the last of the week, and we still do not have a concrete plan to reach his majesty. Dally now, and we will be out of time before you realize it.”

“Is the deadline really so tight?” Izumi wondered. “If your master class will make me stronger, strong enough to beat the blue guy, then can’t I slice and dice the rest of them the same way, nice and easy? I mean, he’s supposed to be the strongest, isn’t he?”

“Try not to count your winnings, for you have not slain Waramoti yet,” the sorceress reminded her. “Yesterday, you faced two members of the Guild, two against two, and it was only through a stroke of pure luck that you escaped with your lives. Two champions remain at the capital, and more are on their way. Heaven’s Hand being the strongest of them doesn’t mean that the rest are weak, by any means. The powers that lifted those individuals to fame above the rest of their kind will reach new heights when combined. Even if you are able to protect yourself, can you say that you have what it takes to protect all those dear to you at the same time?”

“I get it, I get it,” Izumi gave up. “I’m going to have to work hard today, huh?”

“I am glad you understand your position. I shall be looking forward to your progress.”

“Alright! Leave it to me, Lia-sensei! But before we get down to business...”

“What is it?” the sorceress asked.

“Ladies’ room. I really, really have to go now.”

3

Izumi didn’t learn the required runes by noon. It was closer to the end of the fifth period in the afternoon when her merciless instructor finally gave her a passing grade, with a slightly shortened list. Memorizing the characters themselves was not Izumi’s problem. Compared to the writing system of her native land, the runes were exceedingly simple in form. However, grasping the precise meaning and pronunciation was not her forte. No matter how she tried, Izumi had trouble intoning the words correctly. Due to their origins in the language of the Gods, the sounds of the runes didn’t match their spellings in the common tongue, and recalling all the appropriate nuances became a source of great frustration.

Nevertheless, Carmelia wouldn’t go easy on her.

“In the beginning, the words had no written form as the Gods spoke them. The symbols we now use were conceived only afterwards, to enable the recording and teaching of the language, even if they have become the defining form in the later times. Over the ages, the origins of runic sorcery were forgotten and magicians became increasingly dependent on the letters over phonetics. Nevertheless, it is the naming of the word which executes the rune, your voice is what evokes its power. Should the spoken word not match the symbol and its definition precisely, a great deal of power will be lost. Your enemies are not so weak that you can afford to reduce the output by failing this part.”

“What about those arrows?” Izumi thought. “Mira-rin’s knights had arrows with runes that would activate just when they hit the target. I don’t remember them saying anything when they were firing away. So how does that work?”

“I was the one who designed the formula behind those arrows,” the Court Wizard answered her. “To make brief of the complex matter, there is an additional schema in effect, which substitutes the ritual of naming the rune. Basically, it is not a simple rune, but a rune layered with an enchantment, charged with power. With this technique, it is possible to activate the phenomenon independently of the caster. It was a crude, experimental solution, which has never seen success before. Thankfully, in collaboration with the other Court Wizards, we were able to produce somewhat adequate results this time round. Hopefully, as the technique is further honed, it will become a worthwhile asset against the Enemy.”

“Would I be able to do something like that?” Izumi asked. “Substitute the name-calling with something else? Then I wouldn’t have to have so much trouble with these tongue-twisters?”

“Study magic for a thousand years and then ask me again,” the sorceress dryly responded. “As you should have seen, even with six millennia of experience behind them, those arrows were unable to execute the full power of Yodith; the flame that should consume all still leaves identifiable corpses behind. It is doubtful only one would be enough to bring down a daemon. As I stressed to the expedition leaders, at least four or five hits would be required to confirm the kill.”

“Well, worked just fine on humans...” Izumi sullenly remarked.

“The arrows’ effectiveness on my own kind is no lesser,” Carmelia heard her. “Certainly, only creatures of exceptional magic resistance would be able to endure them. Therefore, even though you are learning certain defensive measures today, it would be better not to depend on them too heavily. As able as I am, I cannot hope to match godly fragments. You are and will be far from invulnerable.”

“Sure, sure.”

Late in the afternoon, when Izumi was finally done with the theory class, Carmelia took her outside, to the quiet little courtyard by the outer wall of the keep. Surrounded by tall bulwarks of stone all around, with only a few small embrasures high up, it was a suitably secluded place to test the learned materials in practice. To be sure, Carmelia drew warding runes on the walls with chalk to create a temporary bounded field, and mitigate the noise perceptible from outside.

Short-trimmed grass grew in the yard, with a few light-deprived fruit trees. By the perimeter wall, a number of wooden, vaguely humanoid practice targets were set up. Perhaps this was a place where, from time to time, the Court Wizard instructed her human colleagues and apprentices?

It was around this time that Benjamin made an appearance. The past American from planet Earth stepped out of the main building, carrying a pile of papers under his arm.

“Hello, hello...How goes the training?” he greeted the two with a wide yawn. “Dear me, could I take a day off? Can’t remember the last I felt this under the weathe—whooooa!?”

As he stopped, the young man’s black trousers suddenly dropped down to his ankles, revealing blue-striped boxers underneath.

“Wh—wai, what? What happened?” Various documents escaping from his hold, he struggled to pull up his pants, unable to comprehend how such a thing could have happened.

His eyes soon found the answer, though.

“He-hee!” Standing a short distance away, Izumi proudly spun a silver-buckled belt in her fingers. “How do you like that? I’m Flash now! Fast enough to play tag with Superman! One attosecond magic trick, coming right up!”

“D-do you think that’s very mature!?” Benjamin hollered at her.

“Successful activation of Sifl...confirmed,” Carmelia noted, standing further away in the shade by the wall, barely able to contain her smile. That humored expression soon faded, however. “The strength of the effect greatly exceeds predictions. By past reference, the rune should have increased your movement speed between one point five up to one point eight times the reference value. Yet, I would say your speed just now was approximately eighteen times your natural ability. How do you feel?”

“Now that you mention it,” Izumi said, appearing next to the sorceress. “Is this kind of speed safe? Can’t say I feel too different from the usual, but shouldn’t such sudden twists and turns break my bones?”

“Your concerns are insightful, but as I explained to you before, Sifl is not simply a rune of ‘accelerated motion’ as human scholars often misunderstand it, but one of ‘dislocation’. Not purely in the physical sense, but also in the chronological. While in effect, the magic shifts the caster apart from the natural flow of time.”

“Oh, I get it. So, basically, it's innate time control,” Izumi nodded. “It’s not like I’ve become any faster myself, other people just look slow to me and I look fast to everybody else. Which is why I don’t feel any Gs.”

“You grasped it unusually quickly,” Carmelia remarked, a bit surprised. “I took you for a simple idi—a mercenary, but were you perhaps a scholar in your past life, after all?”

“Wait, was there a terrible insult stashed between the lines!?” Izumi reacted. “I’ll have you know I’m definitely a genius! A hidden genius!”

“Is that so?”

“And, well, you see this kind of thing in anime a lot...”

“Hm?”

“Can I have my belt back now?” Benjamin requested.

Izumi jumped here and there around the courtyard, innocently enjoying her newly gained ability to the fullest. But the sorceress and the man watching her failed to relate to her excitement.

“Stop that,” Carmelia commanded with sudden alarm in her tone. “Deactivate the rune. Quickly now.”

“Hm?” Izumi stopped, alarmed by the sorceress’s commanding tone. “What’s wrong?”

“No matter how I look at it, that speed is unnatural.”

“Unnatural?”

“Yes. Output of that level should drain you in a matter of seconds.”

“Er, drain me?” Izumi’s expression turned startled. “But, I thought runes were all self-sustained? Why would it drain me?”

“Wherever did you hear such an absurd thing?” the Court Wizard shook her head with a look of disbelief. “Nothing that exists can come out of nowhere. The power to create and sustain magical phenomena must always be drawn from an existing source. This is an inescapable law of nature.”

“Whaaat?” Izumi was stunned by the news. “B-but, I thought they’re called words of power because they have power of their own? I mean, didn’t they get their juice from the godly language, or whatever?”

“Were you completely asleep during the lesson in the morning?” Carmelia exhaled a sigh. “What an incredibly naive and superstitious misconception that is. How could this be even remotely true? After all, the Old Gods are long gone. How could language have power outside its speakers? Where would this energy be stored or drawn from? An axe doesn’t cut wood because it is a tool made for cutting wood, does it, even if it holds the potential? It should go without saying that force applied by a user and the material to be cut are required, before it may fulfill its function.”

“Ehhh…? But I...I thought that was the only reason I could use runes, though I can’t use any other magic.” Izumi stammered. “How does it work then?”

“Now you are beginning to see the reason to my confusion,” the sorceress replied. “The main difference between runes and conventional magecraft is that runes hold the schema that gives them shape, whereas in common magecraft that schema is provided verbally, in incantations. Perhaps that is the source of the misunderstanding? There are certain runes, that are self-sustained, in a way. Words such as Brandt or Yodith, for example. They take the energy required to work by consuming that which they are cast on—which happens to coincide with their purpose to ‘consume’. But this doesn’t mean no energy whatsoever is required from the caster. No fire will burn without the initial spark that lights it. And affirming runes like Sifl are an entirely different matter. Where else could the support for their effects come from but the person they affect? Adept magicians can draw power from their surroundings at will, but it is primarily your own spirit that the runes use for fuel. Without such a connection, nothing will come of it.”

“Ah...” Izumi’s jaw dropped. “Does that mean...I could die if I use them too much?”

“No—or so I would normally say,” Carmelia answered. “All living beings have a natural limiter to them, which makes them subconsciously close down the gate when the consumption reaches dangerous levels. The same way you would not be able to run yourself to death without realizing, no one should be able to unknowingly use power that exceeds their capacity.”

“Right…?”

“However, even I would feel exhausted, had I used the rune the way you just did. An average human should have fainted, or died. It is possible that your body does not know how to limit the output, since you are not accustomed to using magic, but it gives up the channel’s full capacity at all times. You could burn your life away in a heartbeat and only notice when it's too late.”

“A…!”

“...Though I say that, I do not perceive any notable decrease in your vitality.”

With a puzzled frown, the sorceress stepped forward and laid her hand against Izumi’s chest. The woman stiffened like a tin soldier, her face inadvertently turning bright red. But apparently thinking nothing of it, Carmelia closed her eyes and concentrated, continuing to feel the woman with the callousness of a doctor.

“This is strange,” she said after a while. “Where your gate should be, I perceive nothing. Your soul cannot be the rune’s source of power, for there is no perceptible linkage, nor any prerequisites to establish one. It does not seem that your spirit has been depleted either...”

How can this be possible?

Compared to those of Carmelia’s own kind, compared even to the other humans of this world, the summoned woman’s spirit was degenerate and bare. Like that of a small animal. It was evident that in her world of origin, spirituality played no part.

Then where did that apparent abundance of power come from?

Izumi using magic was like a bird flying without wings.

Yet, it was undeniably happening.

Which could only mean one thing.

If Izumi herself wasn’t able to support this intensity of magical effects—then the true source had to be elsewhere.

The sorceress’s curiosity was provoked by this seemingly paradoxical discovery, and she peered deeper. Using her mind’s eye, separating her consciousness from her physical form, Carmelia observed the condition of Izumi’s soul, seeking the anomalous source of energy. Her long history as a magician made her efficient at the task.

And she had been correct with her guess.

Through the unattuned, disorderly haze of natural energies surrounding the woman’s inmost being, Carmelia soon caught sight of the out-of-place element she had been looking for.

There was a foreign channel, like an elusive, intangible string, bound to the core of Izumi’s being, trailing from there off into the depths of the aetherworld.

The woman’s spirit was, as predicted, connected elsewhere, and it could only be through this strange link, that the power was provided.

By no means could that power belong to a simple human from a world that knew not the secrets of the soul. Even now, against observed reality, Izumi should have lacked the ability to use magic of any kind; the potential she lacked had only been lent to her from elsewhere, and there was no question that some unknown intelligence was behind the arrangement.

Though she had anticipated it, the sorceress tensed at the face of this sudden revelation.

As if by accident, she had stumbled upon something huge.

Was the source at the end of this path some kind of an ancient artifact? An enchantment? A spiritual spring? Or another magician in person? Where and how had this linkage been created? Was it intentional or not? Was Izumi herself even aware of its existence?

The ability to draw energy from the primordial sources of the world was an advanced technique only the most skilled of arcanists had ever mastered, after long and onerous study. The ability to send that power elsewhere in such an elaborate, subtle fashion was a mystery even greater, far beyond human casters.

Izumi shouldn’t have known about such methods.

Not any mage of the Empire either, not even those rewarded for their talents with the title of Court Wizard.

Then who was responsible for granting the summoned woman this ability? Had Izumi become the conduit of an unknown, malicious being? Was that being using Izumi as its agent, to manipulate things from behind the stage for their own purposes? And what manner of a purpose could they possibly have?

Carmelia followed the faint spiritual trail deeper and deeper, her mind diving through the sea of unconsciousness.

She had to find the answer.

Carefully, gently, discreetly, she felt the way forward along the channel, trying to discern its nature and point of origin. Where was the source? As subtle as the bond was, its firmness and stability implied close proximity.

Every magician’s subconscious thoughts and feelings were imbued in their spells, creating a distinct pattern, a “scent”, a flavor that was like a fingerprint, unique to each, and therefore possible to be identified. The more skilled one was, the more could be inferred from that pattern, and there was no way a bond this deep and intimate, between two souls, could be perfectly devoid of such.

Or so the sorceress had assumed.

So her vast experience predicted.

And yet, no matter how deep Carmelia reached, she could pick up no hint of the unknown caster’s identity. She sensed no malice, no fear, no pride, no glee, no memory noise, nothing that could be expected of the master of this elaborate, skilled ruse. Rather, the further along she pursued the string, the more ambiguous and impersonal it got, the scale and detail of the magic growing beyond the venues of mortal sentience.

In principle, all actions of living organisms followed a certain pulse, a rhythm. But not this line. The schema built within the spell was too regular, too concise to be the work of mindful, sustained effort. It was too clean of bias and errors, too full, even for the elder arcaenerians of the emiri to reproduce. Like a crystal shaped by the unhurried, ageless forces of nature—an effort too disproportionate for the goal of puppeteering an ordinary mortal, who hadn’t even existed in this world until two months ago.

What awaited at the other end of the cirelo’s fruitless, perplexed search was only a sense of boundless, all-embracing serenity.

Dignity.

Authority.

Unquestionable, undiluted air of supremacy.

And there, the channel and all else along with it began to fade and blend into limitless, pure white light…

“Hii——!”

Letting out a sharp gasp, Carmelia drew back her hand. She took a hurried step back, unable to conceal the terror on her face.

“Hm?” Izumi looked back at the cirelo, startled by the reaction. “W-what’s wrong?”

The Court Wizard didn’t answer.

She barely even heard the woman. Her thoughts were in the colorless void she had sensed, and whatever lurked in it. Although in was a poor choice of words. Indeed, what she had thought of only as mere background ambience, too monumental to be considered a living, distinct identity—had been the very thing she had pursued.

Carmelia cradled her trembling hand, then glanced cautiously back at Izumi. Had she reached too far? Had the one at the other end noticed her intrusion? Or was it watching her even now, through the human’s innocent, oblivious eyes, prepared to retaliate if she made one mistake, took but one step too far—?

The champions were summoned to Ortho from another world. According to ancient lore, only spirits of the highest natural order had that ability.

Exactly who had summoned this woman?

Who or what?

The question seemed too dangerous to even be voiced.

“Er, is everything all right?” Benjamin’s voice from further back brought Carmelia back to her senses.

“It’s nothing,” the sorceress said with forceful aloofness, straightening her posture. “...Based on the results, I will impose limiters on Sifl before we make the final arc. Tripled or quadrupled acceleration should suffice to give you an edge over your adversaries, without becoming an immediate threat to your life.”

“Can’t I decide it myself?” Izumi suggested. “Even if it’s a tad risky, I should be able to pick up the pace, if the situation calls for it, right?”

“No,” the sorceress denied. “The risk is too great. If you are, for whatever reason, cut off from your source of energy while the runes are active, your soul will burn out and you will die instantaneously. Do not depend on a power greater than yourself—such is the first law of magic each aspiring mage must learn.”

“Booo...” Izumi pouted.

“On that note, I am also imposing another limit,” Carmelia continued, unrelenting. “Under no circumstances must you activate more than four runes simultaneously.”

“Eehh…?”

“That is to say, while Gefir, the root rune is required for each activation, this leaves you the maximum of three other slots that you may use at any given moment. I shall leave it up to your personal discretion which combination to use.”

“Are you nerfing me on purpose now?” Izumi asked. “I haven’t even gone competitive yet.”

“Beyond the immediate danger to your life, there can also be various other side effects to the excessive use of runes. For example, have you perhaps forgotten your fear of old age?”

“Old age?”

“Think of how Sifl works. While the rune is active, time passes for you a great deal faster than it does for the rest of the world. The more you use it, the stronger the effect, and the faster your body ages as well.”

“Faster!?” the woman shrieked. “Not slower?”

“Of course? It is your own innate time you are accelerating. Did you not say so yourself? If it were slowed down, then the day would fly by before you realized. Did you not consider such an obvious thing?”

Her brow twitching, Izumi paled.

“I...think I got it backwards in my mind, somehow. Then...J-just now, when I was playing around, how many years were shaved off my life expectancy?”

“Who knows?” Carmelia responded without care. “Then again, your lifespan has already been greatly extended by the Cithardia sap and the Red Serum. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“Well, I’m worrying!” Izumi retorted. “I’m not even forty yet and I’d like to stay that way for a while longer! I’m still young! Young, you hear me! No matter how I look on the outside, I don’t want anyone to describe me as ‘mature’! My nightmare is having kids out in the street start calling me, ‘that auntie’, instead of, ‘that girl’!? Aaaaa...!”

“...Let us continue,” Carmelia ignored her, as the woman wailed. “At any rate, the state of your vitality does not appear to be an immediate concern. We shall go on to test Osil next.”

“...You know no mercy, do you?”

“Less conversation, more action, please.”

With only sparse breaks, Izumi’s magic training continued.

There was no need for any changes.

Sifl. The rune of dislocation.

Osil. The rune of perception.

Gram. The rune of strength.

Mito. The rune of dispelling.

Any word of power Carmelia asked her to test, Izumi was able to cast without noteworthy trouble or signs of depletion. The worries of her wasting potential through her inexperience were groundless. After all, her personal ability played no part in the matter at all. Even though heavy limits were placed on most of the runes, in place of Izumi's inability to control the output, there was no denying that her combat prowess was steadily, dramatically growing.

To a disconcerting level, in fact.

Even though Izumi had wished to become stronger herself, the ease by which it happened unnerved even herself. Having the opportunity to share the knowledge of a master of magic was awfully convenient. Was it really okay to get powerful with so little effort...?

While Izumi continued to try out the various runic effects, Benjamin, tired of watching, let out another loud yawn and turned to head back indoors.

“I suppose I’ll save my business for tomorrow,” he told the Court Wizard.

“If it’s not urgent,” Carmelia halfheartedly responded while writing down her notes.

Taking another step to leave, the young man suddenly paused and glanced back over his shoulder. Bringing his voice down, so that Izumi couldn’t overhear them, he ended up voicing a question of his own,

“...What exactly are you building that monster for?”

Closing her eyes, the elven sorceress answered in her assuring tone,

“To defeat Heaven’s Hand and slay the Emperor? As was agreed.”

“If that’s all...”

“There is no need for concern. My control over her is now absolute.”

“I certainly hope you know what you’re doing. Tomorrow is a big day. We can’t afford another disaster like before.”

“Sooner than any of us, the outcome will depend on her highness, no?”

Looking sullen, the young man left the yard without another word.

5

At the time Izumi was living out her personal dream of becoming a genuine magic knight, a dream of a more earthly variety was spread before princess Yuliana’s eyes. In her tower chamber, various colorful costumes had been brought in tall racks, for her to try out. Fluffy ball gowns, elegant dresses, cute petticoats, fabulous skirts, corsets, bodices, shoes, scarves, veils, hats, gloves, and so on, in all rainbow colors, so much of them, each more elaborate and extravagant than the last, that the sight got hard on the eyes after a while.

The princess, however, wasn’t a stranger to such views, and neither did the samples of the Imperial wardrobe impress her all that much. She tried out a number of outfits, more to the pleasure of the excited handmaids than herself, all the while lost in apathetic contemplation.

What frivolity, when the world is about to end...

From among these clothes, she was to choose herself a presentable attire to wear to tomorrow’s party, as the Emperor’s companion.

The occasion wasn’t especially appealing to Yuliana.

The optimism she had felt in the morning had become all but replaced by doubt over the long idle hours of the seemingly endless day.

She couldn’t bring herself to believe that the Emperor had had a sudden change of heart. Most likely, this was only another scheme, another contrived technique to fool her. After the effectiveness of blackmail had failed through the loss of the hostages, he would most likely resort to bribes and flattery next.

Before his goals, the main question was, for how long would the ruler of the Empire continue to play his game under the guise of diplomacy, seeking her willing co-operation, before deeming it altogether fruitless, tiring of her resistance, and resorting to the application of direct force? Could any better be expected of him? She didn’t dare to. In that case, why did he even bother? It's not like he had any diplomatic repercussions to expect. No one from her homeland even knew where Yuliana was.

Nevertheless, even at the risk of making her own future worse, Yuliana couldn’t consider giving up. Whether anyone knew of her efforts or not, she was determined to protect her kingdom to the end, whatever it took. It was her friends and family, her people, that she treasured; the thought of their pain was unbearable for her. But when it came to her own self, she was confident she could face any agony and even death.

From the beginning, her quest had been one where she didn’t expect to return home.

Considering all this, the whole party business was only a massive waste of time. Regardless of what sweet words and beautiful visions the Emperor would try to woo her with, it would be useless.

After yesterday, at heart, she had more or less given up on trying to convert him to her side as well. They were clearly both too stubborn and prideful to let go of their respective views. Moreover, no matter how she rationalized it to herself, the idea of working alongside such an unscrupulous villain had become loathsome.

Yuliana would play along with his whims for one last time, but was certain that the conclusion of tomorrow would bring no changes to the bleak future ahead of them. Even if she did harbor hope, it was only bound to be followed by another disappointment.

I changed my mind: just let it end...

The princess sighed for the hundredth time.

“Could you please lift your arms, your highness?” A maid timidly requested and Yuliana did as asked, to allow a shirt made of costly Phoyvean white silk to be fitted on her.

“Ah,” the maid let out a sound of open admiration. “I hope you won’t mind me voicing my opinion, but I believe this looks absolutely charming on you. What do you think, your highness? Would you like to wear this to the party? It is guaranteed to turn heads.”

“Whatever pleases you,” Yuliana absentmindedly replied. She didn’t care if she wore a potato sack, if only it meant freedom from being treated as a mannequin. After the years she had served as a knight, after the weeks spend on the road, in the wilderness, such fanciful outfits felt awkward and alien on her. What her body missed was the weight of an armor, her muscles were begging to be used.

“Oh, but I see it is a little too tight around the chest,” the maid noted. “The Divines have been most merciful on your highness. Rest assured, our tailor should be able to adjust it in no time. Isolé, please take the measurements and deliver it, so that we may try it on again.”

“Very well.” Another maid stepped forward, measured the princess’s form, and left to take the shirt to the tailor. Yuliana pitied the girl, thinking of all the stairs she had to run along the way.

Hearing the sound of the door closing behind her, the other maid turned back to Yuliana—and immediately dropped down on a knee before her, head bowed deep.

“Your highness,” the maid quickly spoke, her previously light voice suddenly full of emotion. “Please, help him!”

“What...?” Confused by the sudden request, Yuliana looked back at the maid and frowned. Had the servant used the shirt only as an excuse to send her companion away? As if what she asked was something downright criminal.

“You have to help him,” the maid pleaded. “You’re the only one who can. He’s all alone, his life hanging by a thread each day. I fear he’ll be killed when it’s over, if not before. Surely he will! But I—it breaks my heart to watch it happen. Just to watch, unable to do anything! I can’t bear it any longer! What can I do? I am powerless, a nobody! But someone has to help him, by the Divines…!”

“Calm down,” Yuliana crouched before the maid and held her shoulders, as if hoping that contact would restore a sense of consistency in the maid’s panicking mind. “Who are you talking about? I don’t understand...”

“I cannot say,” the woman replied. “I’m not allowed, we were all made—AaAgh!”

As if struck by a sudden fit of pain, the maid winced and clutched her head.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” the princess asked.

“Don’t...mind me. I’m not important. But he...Please, you have to save him. He’s a kind man, he did nothing to deserve this. All the things they’ve done to him...Even now, they’re making—AAAAAAHH!”

As if the pain had intensified, the maid fell on the floor, writhing in agony. Yuliana tried to hold her still, with growing unease. That pain couldn’t be a simple migraine, some unnatural force appeared to be keeping the maid from talking.

“A gias…?” she guessed. “But why…?”

“I don’t care...what happens to me...” the maid gasped. “Just don’t let them...kill him...please...please...please...”

“Don’t say anything else,” Yuliana hurriedly told the struggling maid. “I understand. I will do everything in my power, I promise you. So please, you have to stop speaking. Your life is in danger!”

“I...I’m sorry...” the maid kept repeating, her mind clouded by the pain. “I’m so sorry...I’m sorry...”

The door of the chamber suddenly opened and a guard looked in.

“I heard noises.” A suspicious look on his harsh face, the guard looked at the princess with the hurting maid in her arms. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She...started to feel unwell all of a sudden,” Yuliana nervously forced an answer. “I—I think she’s getting better now. Must’ve been exhaustion, from overworking, no doubt...She’ll be okay...I’m sure. Just a moment...and...”

The guard didn’t look convinced. He had to have inferred the cause to the servant’s abrupt collapse. He glanced at someone else outside in the hallway and nodded towards the women. Then, he entered the chamber with another guard in tow. Without a word, they strode across the room, picked up the dazed maid by the arms, and half carried, half dragged her out, ignoring the princess.

In shock over the sudden turn of events, too confused to think of anything to say or do, Yuliana could only watch them go. In no time, the door was slammed back shut again, as if nothing had ever happened.

What had the maid wanted her to do, exactly?

Who was she talking about, who was “he”?

What did it all mean? Would she ever know?

As the princess sat there, in shock over the mysterious incident, the other maid eventually returned from her trip to the tailor.

“I have it fixed now,” the girl said, stepping in. Then, she saw the princess in her unnatural position, and that her colleague was missing. “Huh? Where’s Miria?”

“She...started to feel unwell,” was all Yuliana managed to answer her. “The...the guards took her...”

As harmless as she had tried to make it sound, the maid inferred too much from her tone and spontaneously dropped the cloth on her hands.

“No,” she gasped. Covering her mouth, the maid turned around and ran out with a pitiful wail. “Nooo!”

And by her reaction, Yuliana knew she wouldn’t see the maid called Miria again.

Exactly what kind of a deadly game was being played at the Imperial Palace of Bhastifal, and by whose will? Only one thing was certain—Yuliana would not find the answer while locked up in her chamber. Perhaps she had a personal reason to attend the coming party, after all.

6

Late in the afternoon, on the other side of the palace from Yuliana’s tower, perfectly out of sight and reach, Izumi’s training session reached its conclusion.

The final rune, Tauhirn.

Rather than a singular rune, it was a compound of two unique words of power, Tau and Hiran.

In their search for a quick and efficient personal defense, the cirelo arcaenarians had come up with this particular spell not two hundred years in the past.

Its name localized as “Iron Hide” by the few informed human scholars, this rune combination generated a protective energy coating around the caster, tightly conforming to their forms, like an additional layer of skin. Powerful enough to deflect indirect arrow hits, Tauhirn could even withstand weaker blows and slashes from melee weaponry. It was an excellent base defense against the unpredictable perils of conventional warfare—but also had its downsides. It impeded mobility too much to be used with heavy armor, yet was entirely inadequate against the raw strength of the many-faced daemons by itself.

Still, for Izumi, who normally wore no armor and lacked defenses of any kind, Tauhirn was no doubt going to be an invaluable asset, especially with the deft archers of the Imperial Guard in mind.

However, the activation of the spell left her instructor in a state of open dismay once again.

Izumi herself didn’t feel that different from the usual.

Only, somewhat “firmer” than before. And perhaps a bit heavier. Like dressed in a well-fitting costume with light weights attached. It was a comforting, secure feeling, all in all, and it looked like the rune worked as promoted.

But, seeing the sorceress’s astounded look, Izumi’s confidence soon faltered.

“Um, what’s wrong?” Izumi asked, nervously examining herself.

Carmelia didn’t reply.

“...Oh.”

As Izumi looked down at her open palms, she saw that an unsettling change had indeed taken place.

Her hands had changed color, a great deal darker. She hadn’t turned brown or brown-black, as if she had taken on a good tan, but more like, dark gray. Gunmetal gray. She soon discovered it was not only her hands either. Her upper arms, feet—she pulled down her collar and saw that the effect even reached her chest—probably her face too.

In other words, Izumi’s skin all around now literally resembled unpolished iron. Her natural color scheme in its entirety had been altered in an instant.

“Iron Hide” was only supposed to be a name, not a description of the spell’s effect. The coating itself should not have been visible to the naked eye; knowing this by a prior explanation, Izumi could understand her teacher’s reaction.

True, the same unpleasant association had occurred to herself as well, the moment she had seen her darkened fingers. Didn’t that lifeless, morbid hue bear an uncanny resemblance to—Izumi had to feel her face, to confirm that she still had her nose, eyes, and hair. That her head hadn’t—sighing in relief, Izumi noted that the change of skin tone appeared to be the only difference to the usual.

“...I’m still me, so can you stop looking like I’m going to eat you, okay?” she told the sorceress.

Carmelia slowly recovered and examined the woman closer with a deep frown.

“How could such a thing be…?”

“Well, you tell me, doc.”

Even without being asked, the sorceress’s mind was at work.

But the theories that came to her offered no relief. On the contrary.

Perhaps it was a coincidental after-effect of the elven elixir and the Cithardia sap? Perhaps it was because of silen devehra. Perhaps the curse had managed to corrupt the woman’s spirit to a degree, which was then reflected by the spell? Or perhaps the cause was the her alien origin? The unknown source of her magical ability? Perhaps it was the combined result of all these various, anomalous variables together?

Was there any way to tell for certain?

It couldn’t be that the curse is still in effect, that the serum simply allowed her to overcome the symptoms? And that any day soon, she might still turn into—

Carmelia shuddered.

Perhaps the woman should have been killed, after all? Had the sorceress made a tragic mistake in trying to cure her? Had her pity, a fleeting emotion, a momentary lapse in judgment, doomed centuries’ work? No, the more likely culprit was her own greed and ambition, in thinking she could shape this stranger from another world into a tool of her vengeance.

Was there still time to correct this miscalculation?

Killing Izumi would have been simple, but how would it affect the plan? Was there any time to come up with an alternative method?

No, wasn’t it already much too late?

She would not have taken this way to begin with, if there was any other.

Then is this our fate?

As Carmelai stared at the woman’s darkened features, a sudden sense of enlightenment came over her.

For over six thousand years, the sorceress had eluded death.

But that didn’t mean her life was free of fear.

For as long as she could remember, she had feared the unseen destiny before her.

She had fought it with everything she had.

All her skills and wisdom, everyone she came across, her every waking hour, had become a tool to keep the monstrous future at bay.

Yet on this day, Carmelia looked at the face of forces that so easily overwhelmed even her greatly expanded understanding. In the scale of the cosmic elements behind these events, even her life or death were surely of no consequence, not worthy of a passing mention. The struggle she had taken so much pride in now only looked like the aimless tumbling of a child.

Indeed, what were her ambition, her creed, all her people and their history, in the grand scheme of the universe, but equal to strands of oat swaying in the spring breeze? No greater was the gravity of her best efforts. Still, as powerless as it made Carmelia feel, that impression was also strangely soothing.

There, among everything else, she saw the size of her hatred, the burning grudge that had burdened her over the centuries, reduced as no more fierce than a lonely spark in the night. What use was there, in holding onto such a petty thing, cradling it as if it were precious? Was she made any stronger or wiser for it?

No. For no reason had she looked down on humans; as they stood side by side under the sun’s immense brilliance, who could tell the difference between them? Who was there to measure specks of dust, to tell one was superior to the other?

Lost in reflection, Carmelia reached forward and held Izumi’s face.

Through the woman, she felt like embracing her enemy, the destiny she had resisted, for which she had lost all.

This woman whom she had taken for a mere fool—perhaps she was blessed, after all? The line she drew through life was short and simple, but with a distinct course. There was beauty in its unrepenting candor. Next to it, the extensive path Carmelia had traveled across the cycles looked only shamefully confused and convoluted.

What awaited at the end of it, she didn’t dare dream about.

Nevertheless, hers was a path too long to be turned away from.

That decision she had made already eight centuries ago.

Still...

Perhaps there is no reason to drag this one with me?

Itaka Izumi—whatever was her destiny, she should walk the full distance of her road, to its unknown end, on her own terms. Live or fall by her own desire. So the sorceress judged.

“W-what is it?” Izumi asked, canceling the rune. Unable to see anything that went through the Court Wizard’s mind, she was getting rather flustered. “Call me socially inept, but whether you’re going to kiss me or pluck my head off, I seriously can’t tell anymore!”

Carmelia ended up doing neither.

Slowing retracting her hands, she turned away from the woman.

“I will not prohibit you from using Tauhirn, nor limit it,” she said. “But, do keep it only as the last resort. Or you might make all the world your enemy.”

Chapter 9: The Grand Shield Makes a Comeback

1

Following a good night’s sleep—which was a lot shorter than Izumi would have liked after the previous day’s crash course into magecraft—the woman from Earth was called for yet another strategy meeting. By now, those had almost become part of the daily routine. It was bizarre how natural it all felt to her now, as she made her way through the Keep.

In the library’s spacious hall, the three chief conspirators plotting against the Imperial Throne gathered once again, to plan their next move in this deadly Chess game.

The long desk in the middle of the hall had been cleared of unneeded obstacles and distractions, leaving only the documents relevant for the coming day’s agenda. Izumi gave those documents a superficial glance, but they appeared too disconnected on the surface to give her a clue to her companions’ intentions.

All she could do was quietly wait for it to be explained to her.

“This could be big,” the young man who shared Izumi’s fate as an inter-planetary traveler, Benjamin Watts, opened the meeting with a report. “The chubby old fellow whose portrait you see over there on the table is called Marquess Magnoise De la Cartá. And he would be one of the richest, most influential men at the capital outside of the Imperial Court. Hailing from the Dukedom of Ludgwert to the east, a resident of the Empire for the past thirty years, he owns the press, owns baths, hotels, shops, armories, a private army of two hundred mercenaries, and is also the Archbishop of the Cathedral of Divine Worship.”

“Another busy guy, I see,” Izumi remarked.

In Tratovia, there was no organization like the Christian Church on Earth, or Judaism, or Islam, no one true God above all, no common doctrine, no concept of salvation through faith, and so there should have been no archbishops either. But that was the way the equivalent rank was translated by her unconscious mind. All it told Izumi was that the man in question liked to pose as a figure of spiritual influence, on top of his many enterprises for earthly profit. Reputation as a person above the common mortals probably suited De la Cartá’s purposes. It seemed that none of the locals saw any ethical or religious conflict in the matter. Or, even if they did, they were in no position to voice it.

“Today, De la Cartá will be celebrating his 60th birthday,” Benjamin continued. “A big, pleasantly round number. To commemorate it, a massive celebration is planned to be held at the grand Tenessia Cathedral later tonight. Six hundred noble guests have been invited, all la cremé de la cremé—it’s going to be one heck of a feast. And, the best for the last, according to the intel from our associates in the Circle, his majesty, the Emperor, will be gracing the event with his presence. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

There was no way Izumi didn’t see as much.

“This is our chance to skip straight to the last boss, huh?”

“Precisely,” the man nodded. “An uncouth brute like Waramoti would only spoil the festive mood, so we have a good reason to assume he’s not on the guest list. Two of the other heroes are dead, and neither is there enough room for a hoard of knights within the Cathedral. Add in six hundred human shields instead—in other words, his majesty will be practically unguarded, blind and deaf and stupid while he’s there. Risky or not, we’d be equally stupid to miss this chance.”

The Court Wizard picked up on the main point,

“We will have you infiltrate the Cathedral and assassinate the Emperor. Make use of your new abilities and the distraction provided by the guests to land the killing blow. With that, we will have achieved our objective, without having to take more risks fighting the remaining heroes of the Guild.”

Izumi nodded. Such was her preference as well.

She looked over the papers before her again and, with the given context, they made a great deal more sense to her. The layout of the complex Cathedral building, the entry points circled with red. The Marquess’s profile. The guest list. The spies of the Circle had done a thorough job, as always. There was even a list of the wines to be served. What a fearsome organization.

But as effective as the plan looked, as close to reach as the conclusion hovered, Izumi couldn’t bring herself to get hyped up on the inside.

“It can never be this easy, can it...?” she muttered, pursing her lips.

It all looked too good to feel real.

Too convenient.

Something was inexplicably off about it all.

Why would the Emperor attend a simple birthday party at a time like this?

“Yes, no plan is perfect,” Benjamin shrugged, “but it’s worth a try, no? The news about us trying to off his majesty is starting to spread. On one hand, this puts a strain on us—we must act quickly now, before they come cracking on us for real. On the other hand, it also applies pressure on his majesty. It’s at uncertain times like this that he must appear a strong leader in the eyes of the public and hide his weaknesses. After all, in Tratovia, strength is everything. He’ll lose face, if he keeps hiding behind his walls all day long. Which means, he’ll be pushed to take unreasonable risks to show off his courage, to prove he’s unaffected by the gossip. And the one time he sticks his neck too far out will be it for him.”

“Well, I do agree with the theory,” Izumi said, “but this is usually the part of the movie, where the protagonist is betrayed by her allies and walks into a trap, so I’d rather rethink it twice over.”

“What are you talking about, hahaha?” Benjamin replied with a forced laugh. “Why would we betray our only tool—I mean savior?”

“The word ‘friend’ never crossed your mind, did it?”

“If you help me hook up with the princess, I’ll be your best friend for life. I swear.”

“I’m fine with keeping this as a business relationship.”

"What are you, the angry mother hen?”

The elven magician between the two had remained unusually quiet for all this time, staring off into the distance, a thoughtful look on her dignified features.

“What’s up, Lia?” Izumi leaned closer to her and asked her. “What do you think we should do?”

Remaining quiet for a brief moment longer, the cirelo finally looked up at her.

“I understand your concerns,” she said with an air of indifference. “The possibility that the Circle has been fed false information cannot be entirely dismissed. The enemy could be baiting us—but what of it? To us, this is do or die. Whether simple or difficult, whether impossible or unlikely, we have a job. Where the Emperor goes, we must follow. Even should you walk into a trap in his pursuit, all it means is that you will have to destroy the trap and the trappers along with it. Whether openly malicious or good-intending, anyone who stands on your way is to be crushed underfoot. Do you understand? I have taught you the means, do not say I wasted my time.”

Benjamin wondered if the sorceress hadn’t gone too far. At times like this, wouldn’t one need encouragement instead of a whipping?

Yet, at Carmelia’s harsh words, a wide smile unexpectedly spread across Izumi’s face.

“Hm! You sure know how to get a girl fired up!” she exclaimed. “Yes, that’s right! It’s fine if I just kill everybody, isn’t it? An assassin and an enemy of the state, aren’t I already bottom of the barrel material in this land? What do I have left to worry about? It shouldn’t matter if I let loose for real!”

“If it comes down to that,” Carmelia replied with a faint smile. “So long as you get results, I care not how you do it.”

“Just to be sure,” Benjamin quietly spoke, “we’re still the good guys, aren’t we?”

“Well, I admit I’d like to avoid any extra hassle, if possible. I have my age to mind, after all.” Izumi calmed down. “So, how were you planning on getting me in there? Let me guess, you’ll edit me onto the guest list, I dress up, and walk in straight through the front?”

“What? We couldn’t possibly be that stupid!” Benjamin rejected her idea outright. “How many parties do you think these people hold every year? It may be a big city, but the circles of the elite are small. Even if we had powerful contacts who could forge you an invitation card—which we do not—De la Cartá’s servants know anyone who’s anyone. No way you’re cheating your way in like that.”

“Well, worked just fine last time...” Izumi pouted.

“Besides, no offense, but you don’t exactly look like a noblewoman. They’re not the type to tan much. Or lift swords on a daily basis. Or cut their hair with rusty scythes, or whatever you’ve done to yours...”

“Well, fooled everyone laaaaast time...”

“How long would it take to teach you local etiquette, anyway? I can’t even picture you bobbing a curtsy, lifting your skirt hems elegantly, all lady-like, saying, ‘how do you do, your lordship?’ No, somehow, the mere thought makes me shudder...”

The man actually shuddered, looking abhorred.

“Yeah, you can shut up now.” Izumi was starting to get upset.

“As you have seen,” Carmelia took the chance to interrupt and explained, “there is an extensive network of ancient tunnels and catacombs coursing beneath the city. I have studied some of the older maps they have here in the archives, and located a few such channels that lead directly under the Cathedral. Our agents have already investigated them, and confirmed that some of those underground tunnels are connected to the lower basement floors, allowing entry undetected.”

“So I’m going to sneak in...through the sewers?” Izumi’s excitement levels continued to drop. “What if somebody poops on me? They’re going to discover me by the smell.”

“As far older, the tunnels serve no function in the city’s sewer system,” Carmelia patiently answered Izumi’s half-joking question. “And, in regards to your prior proposal, a part of the plan does expect you to pose as a guest. While we cannot create a credible fake identity or an invitation card for you on the spot, leaving a suitable disguise near the planned entry point should be within our power. No one should expect intruders to appear out of nowhere. Once inside and properly disguised, you should be able to blend in easily enough and search for the target unhindered.”

“Let me guess, I can’t bring the sword?”

“It should go without saying. This plan relies on discretion, after all. You cannot be found with any weapons on you, in case the Marquess’s guards carry out checks at random in the crowd. But you have the secula sonatea I will craft for you. In your hands, the runes of the arc should be deadly enough...with only a mortal as your opponent.”

“Right.”

“Get inside, acquire the disguise, and find your way into the main hall. Blend into the crowd, and whatever you do, avoid raising suspicion. Quietly bide your time. When the Emperor arrives, locate him, and make note of his guards. Approach undetected...and slay him where he stands.”

“Strike in the open, is that it?” Izumi asked. “I do like the idea of cool, high-profile maneuvers, but how am I to get away then? Or will getting caught be part of the plan?”

“Ideally,” the sorceress continued, “you should plan the kill in a way that gives you the time to distance yourself from the target. Make use of the crowds and the ensuing commotion, and return the way you entered. In the event that you are discovered, it should be possible to use the guests and the Cathedral architecture for cover, to evade and dispatch your pursuers, where necessary. Heavy weaponry and bows will not be allowed inside. The security will not be able to easily engage you, giving you enough leeway to make your escape. Simply memorize the entry point and leave by the same tunnel that takes you in. Block the path to ensure you are not followed. Once you have reached outside, signal me as before, and I will open a gate to extract you. It does not need to be more complicated than that.”

“I think it’s plenty complicated already, but maybe I can handle it.”

“Don’t forget,” the elven woman stressed, “the Emperor is your top priority. Under no circumstances can you let him escape with his life. Even if it means turning the celebration into a bloodbath, you must take him down. We may not get another opportunity like this. Should you fail and be captured, every knight at the capital will be out for us, and it will be our turn to be the hunted. We cannot hide here forever. The longer this plot takes of us to execute, the sooner it will be exposed. One way or the other, his majesty must die. The future of our world depends on it.”

“I get it, all right,” Izumi nodded. “I’m not much of a revolutionary, and I don’t know about saving the world either, but I promised I’d do it, so that’s that.”

“So long as you understand.”

“Will you really be all right?” Benjamin asked, not quite as convinced. “I mean, you’ve pulled off some fabulous stunts before, but this is...maybe not something you can mindlessly punch your way out of. I’m sure we could have other, safer options, such as ambushing the Emperor en route to the Cathedral, or when he leaves? Or poisoning his wine, or, well, anything that doesn’t involve somehow deceiving the eyes of hundreds of people.”

“Well, we don’t know which route he will take, do we?” Izumi pondered, looking at the district map. “I’m sure they’ve taken the chance of an ambush into account. And this city is like a maze. There are multiple gates out of the palace, and a bunch of bridges across the river too. Even if I have speed hack now, I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“True, that.”

“And I don’t know about poison either. If I’m going to have to kill the guy, I’d rather do it upfront. Not like it’d be that much more fun, but I feel I have to face him head on. I kind of owe him that much. It would just leave a poor aftertaste otherwise.”

“...Eh, right?” Benjamin failed to understand her meaning.

“There are also more pressing reasons to favor the location,” Carmelia spoke. “As he travels, the Emperor will be guarded by an elite platoon of the Imperial Guard, which is to remain on standby outside the Cathedral through the night. Additionally, while Heaven’s Hand is removed from the picture, there is one more hero we must still be wary of.”

The Court Wizard took one of the documents on the table and placed it above the rest.

“Bramms of the Grand Shield. One of the most upstanding warriors of the Guild, perhaps the one most worthy of being revered as a ‘hero’. It is highly likely that this man will be in charge of his majesty’s safety at the party. Which means, he will be somewhere nearby at all times. I would like to avoid an open confrontation with him to the last, which means that an ambush along the way is out of the question.”

“I knew there was going to be trouble,” Izumi sighed, recalling the man from the night of her arrival at the capital.

“However,” Carmelia continued, “Bramms is also an inexperienced man from the country, unaccustomed to large masses of people, colorful festivities, and such like. Therefore, it is in the party, that your chances of fooling his keen senses will be greatest. Snatch the target from under his nose and leave him in the dust as you escape.”

“I’ll try,” Izumi nodded. “Geez, the difficulty rating for this mission is definitely A. I’d like to grind a little more before even trying...but that’s not an option, is it?”

“The party will begin at sundown, today,” Benjamin informed her. “I suggest you try and relax until then. Make sure you’re in the best possible shape you can be. State, I mean, not talking about your—”

“Everybody understood, Einstein.”

“Er, I’ll be keeping my ears open meanwhile, in case any new intel comes in.”

Having done his part, the young man left the library.

With only the two of them remaining behind, Carmelia turned to Izumi,

“Now, if you have a moment free, come with me and I will bestow the arc on you.”

Nervously swallowing, feeling like a child on Christmas eve, Izumi obediently nodded and followed after the magician.

2

Bells rang. Their heavenly clangor carried far over Selenoreion, rebounding from the palace walls. Those bells belonged to one of the temples, no doubt, either calling devoted locals to service, or to announce a wedding, or perhaps a funeral instead. None of those occasions could be carried out rightly without paying appropriate homage to the Divines.

As the patron spirits of the Empire, the Three were in the position to prohibit the worship of all other Lords, if they so wished, yet they had not. The citizens were and had always been at liberty to choose which aesa of myth they would turn to with their mortal concerns. Whether their prayers were heard or responded to was, of course, a separate matter.

This carefree, indulgent freedom gave Bhastifal its characteristic diverse, leisurely air.

But to princess Yuliana, that normally solemn air seemed to bear a sobering sense of foreboding today.

On the street outside the Imperial Palace, Yuliana was greeted by the sight of a luxurious carriage, and a line of fifty knights in brightly shining armors. The carriage, crafted of the black eoben wood from northern Felorn and held together by ornate, hand-forged white titanium frames, had two pairs of noble, jet black horses to move it.

The knights, indistinguishable from one another, stood in attention on the walkway, an opening to the carriage dividing them, with twenty-five on the left of it, an identical count on the right, the crimson capes fluttering in the brisk afternoon wind.

There were two other figures present as well.

Right before the gate, dressed in a dark green doublet, a black jerkin, as well as a lighter-colored stole over his shoulders, was his majesty, the Emperor. Naturally, trousers as well he wore, straight black, and light shoes made of shining leather. A large, silver-made medallion sporting the Imperial emblem hung in a chain around his neck, as a proof of his rank, together with the regal ring on his left middle finger.

“Your highness,” the man greeted Yuliana with a nod.

Instead of answering in kind, Yuliana turned her gaze towards the second eye-catching figure.

A distance behind the Emperor, near the carriage by the road, stood a man of intimidating stature. Nearly a head and a half taller than the sovereign, that person was hardly dressed for an aristocratic celebration. His toned arms were bare up to the bulky shoulders, and only a slim breastplate covered his torso. He had spartan leather shorts, which left his knees bare, and for footwear he only sported rudimentary sandals. All in all, he looked like someone bound for beach games rather than anything remotely noble.

This only meant he was someone who could afford to forego the etiquette, being above all law and jurisdiction—with a rank even beyond a princess in this odd land.

One of Tratovia’s famous heroes, that man had purchased his freedom from social scrutiny through exceptional, heroic feats of war. His achievements had lifted him from obscurity to immortality, as a name to be passed from generation to another, even after his earthly journey should end.

That name was Bramms.

Bramms of Oblong, he was once called, after his hometown.

Today, most people knew him by his title, “Grand Shield”, after his iconic armament.

On one of his adventures, the man had happened upon an enormous shield, crafted by an ancient race, of a sparse mineral more durable than steel. No other man could even imagine lifting such a heavy object, yet Bramms went on to employ it both to defend lives as well as to crush them, in the service of the Imperial Throne.

Still, it was difficult to take him for a hardened warrior, despite his muscular form and fame.

For the look on Bramms’s face was pure and guileless.

Before lust for power, control, revenge, pleasure, or bloodthirst, the man had been driven through life mostly by sheer competitive passion.

Before a soldier, it was probably better to label him an athlete.

For that man, even war, the taking of lives, was a sport.

Not something to be done for the fun and pleasure of it, or for any mundane objective, but simply a challenge, an almost holy trial to undertake, to surpass one’s own corporeal self and the limits of humanity.

Each excruciating storm of steel that Bramms had been through had helped sculpt him towards perfection—towards a self-defined ideal of divinity.

“I was under the impression that the festivities were to begin later,” Yuliana turned back to the Emperor and said. The skies were bright, the sun still high up. It would be quite some time before dusk.

“And you would be correct,” the Emperor answered her. “However, I was hoping we could take some time to ourselves before then. It’s such a beautiful day, it would be a shame to spend it all holed up indoors, waiting. Don’t you think?”

“What do you have in mind?” Yuliana eyed the man with suspicion.

“Driving around,” he shrugged, “enjoying the city, perhaps having a bit of lunch somewhere along the way,” he answered. “You can call it a date, if you like.”

“I don’t get your meaning...It seems a man in your position is more free than I imagined.”

“For you, I will make the time,” the Emperor said and gestured towards the carriage. “Shall we?”

Yuliana looked ahead, at the carriage. And the brawny man next to it. The stern gaze of his blue eyes was fixed at her.

“Somehow, I don’t think I can bring myself to relax in company so famous,” she said.

“You have nothing to fear from Bramms, your highness,” the Emperor told her. “He’s here as our shield and nothing more. Rather, it is with a ceiling so reliable that one can easily relax even in the fiercest of storms. What say you, Bramms? A few words of assurance to her highness.”

The tall hero glumly looked away.

“I would rather not,” he replied. “The gaze of this noble maiden makes me restless. I fear it could become an impediment to my duty, were I to give her unnecessary attention.”

“See what I mean?” the Emperor turned back to Yuliana. “You wouldn’t believe a man of his caliber was a stranger to women, but very little else beyond combat goes through his mind.”

“Somehow, I feel I’m being mocked,” the princess replied with a scowl. “No matter. There is no way out of this invitation for me, yes? Then let us get on with it.”

“When there is no way out of the path of destiny, you face it with resolve...” The Emperor nodded. “Your radiance grows by the day, it seems.”

“You will find that it takes more than parties, dates, and flattery to change my mind, your majesty. At least in that regard, I am my father’s daughter.”

They went on to board the carriage, the Emperor and Yuliana inside, Bramms getting up next to the driver on the front seat. Turning half a circle to face the road, the knights struck a salute, and the ride left off with a snap of the driver’s whip.

Confused, Yuliana observed that the platoon of knights were left behind before the palace, making no effort to follow them. Not that they could, without horses. Did the ruler of the Empire really intend to travel the city with only one mercenary for protection? No matter how able the bodyguard, it seemed too reckless.

The Emperor appeared to see what the princess was thinking.

“It wouldn’t be much of a date with that many chaperons, would it? Rest assured, if it ever comes down to it, I shall defend you with my life.”

“You needn’t give up your life, if only you leave our defense to me,” Yuliana responded. “I don’t mean to offend, your majesty, but I can see your hands aren’t those of a swordsman.”

“That is very perceptive of you,” he made no effort to deny it. “Yes, I am not all that fond of swords. Though in my life, I have seen weapons capable of so much worse.”

“Weapons your soldiers use to deliver death outside your borders, perhaps?”

“...I see we Imperials are fiercely hated. Perhaps for a reason. But I do hope to change this.”

“And how will you do so, if I may ask?”

“By any means necessary.”

“You have made this clear, yes.”

“Such cold words,” the Emperor breathed a sigh with a bit helpless smile. “Are you forgetting how you nearly had me killed on the night of your arrival? Did I ever let that get in the way of our relationship? I believe I have shown a great deal of open-mindedness and understanding in our dealings since, even if I took some extreme measures. Measures that should pale in comparison to being beheaded.”

“I...” Being reminded again of what happened days back, Yuliana looked away in shame. “It was not my intention...for that to happen.”

“Yet, your companion tried to kill me all the same, while you stood and watched. The person you named as your friend. What a peculiar acquaintance, for a pacifist such as yourself. Provided you are indeed every bit as peaceful as you profess to be.”

Yuliana failed to respond.

Where was Izumi now, anyway? What was she doing? Hopefully, whatever it was, she was far away from Bhastifal. But in addition to this anxious worry for the woman’s safety, the princess also felt remorseful over the consequences of her friend's thoughtless actions.

Why did it have to turn this way? Had she been able to restrain herself, had I been able to stop her, we could be sitting here together now. Yes, were she by my side, I wouldn’t be having such a hard time...

“That woman...” The Emperor’s suddenly spoke, shaking Yuliana from her reflections. “She said she was summoned from another world? Was this true?”

The man’s face was forcibly neutral, like a mask.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” Yuliana asked in return. It was indeed an absurd story, and she wouldn’t have believed it herself, were she not there to see it happen.

“I would,” the Emperor said. “If you say so.”

“What difference does it make?” Yuliana asked. “From this world or outside, she will still lose her life for defying the Emperor, the same as anyone else.”

“Could be.”

“Or perhaps, if you don’t leave her at peace, it may well be that you’ll lose your life in her hands instead.”

The Emperor didn’t comment. His face looked even stiffer.

“A human summoned from another world,” he spoke after a lengthy pause. “Will become the doom of Ortho.”

“So the prophecy of Geltsemanhe foretells,” Yuliana replied.

“Unless the Trophaeum is conquered in time, the Covenant will be broken, and the world falls into decay and ruin...But if it is a champion from another world, who takes the Tower, there is a chance that we will enter the Age of Chaos, where an even greater ruin awaits us. No matter what we do, terrible perils lie ahead.”

“It won't come to be, if we save ourselves. If we take the Tower without depending on outside help. If you help me do it.”

“Do not kid yourself, your highness. You do not have such a power. Neither of us does. Not even the might of the Empire will be enough, alone.”

“Then the way we go about it is wrong.”

“The path we choose must be one that holds the greatest chances of success. Sending one princess to the land of monsters is not it.”

“It is no less difficult to conquer the world with the power of fleets and armies, in the time we have left.”

“It can be done. Will be. With each new land to join us, the power in our possession is greatly added to. Whether we should grow our might through words or war, you are here to show us. Which is the best, the most efficient path?”

“You may compel a young and inexperience girl, your majesty. You may have bribed Luctretz and Ledarnia on your side. But before the King of Alderia, before the Crulean citadels of steel, before my father’s throne, you will find yourself a young and inexperienced boy yourself, whose words will convince no one. You will not conquer those lands by force. Not anywhere near all of them. And even if you somehow could, all that would be lost in the land of daemons, where entire civilizations more capable than yours fell to ruin before. Have you never considered that your plan here could be the one that is only dreams?”

Without saying anything, the Emperor closed his eyes, deep wrinkles dividing his forehead. He glanced outside the window and—suddenly bounced up to his feet, striking the roof with his fist.

“DRIVER, STOP THE CART!” he hollered.

Had he gone mad? Startled, Yuliana looked at the sovereign, in whose eyes a sudden, intense gleam had appeared. Before the ride had even fully stilled, he already opened the door and leaped out to the street.

Confused, Yuliana peeked her head out, to see what had gotten to him.

“There it is!” the man exclaimed back at her, excited, pointing ahead. “Restaurant Halio! Right where I remembered it was! How long I’ve waited to visit it again! Hurry, your highness! The food here will change your world!”

The princess blinked her eyes, no less confused.

“...Excuse me?”

3

In a shady room deep within the Imperial Palace, visible only in the light of clusters of candles by the walls, the summoned woman from Earth faced yet another tense situation. She, who had braved through a great many life-risking, life-changing predicaments since her arrival in this extraordinary world, now found her courage rapidly faltering.

“I—I don’t think I can do it, after all,” she confessed.

“Be quiet and lie down,” the only other person in the room, Court Wizard Carmelia, curtly ordered the woman, showing little empathy or understanding.

Despite the command, Izumi failed to move. She looked at the room around her, though there was not much to look at. Rather than anything specific in it, the atmosphere was what sent her head spinning. The warm red color filter the candle lights painted in her vision, the spicy, calming scent of incense, it all seemed deeply intimate and foreign to her.

“Thinking about arcane rituals, I expected something a little...different,” Izumi said, her cheeks burning. “I don’t know what exactly, but certainly nothing like this! I know I already said yes, but that was before I knew the specifics! I-it’s a woman’s right to call it off whenever she feels like it, even without any real reason! I don’t mean to be difficult on purpose or look like a whimsical person, I just think I need a little more time to calmly think this through and prepare myself...if possible.”

“A possibility it is not,” the sorceress replied, fiddling with something in the back of the room. “What are you doing, still with your clothes on? I told you to undress. Be quick now, for time is of the essence. It has been a long time since I last did this, so it could take a while.”

Reluctantly, Izumi started to take off her shirt.

“Y-you’ve done it before? J-just how long does it take, typically?” she asked. “It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but I don’t have a wealth of experience with this sort of thing...”

“Some hours, perhaps. Even longer, if you keep delaying.”

“Hours? Oh my. You sure have stamina, to be able to keep going for so long. I-is it many times now? That you’ve done this…?”

“For how long do you think I’ve lived?” Carmelia proudly answered. “There is no magician alive more experienced at this nor more qualified than I. I’ve served kings and heroes of renown, who all entrusted their lives to me and no other, knowing my work comes without any room for error. You should be honored to have the privilege of feeling my hands, as a mere mortal. Among your kind, you are certainly special.”

Izumi’s fluster only deepened.

“D-did you have to phrase it like that? As if it wasn’t awkward enough! No matter how experienced you are, remember that it’s a first for me! In my chest still beats an innocent, delicate heart! If something goes wrong, I could be traumatized for life!”

“Nothing goes wrong. I told you, I make no mistakes. But the longer you tarry, the more I am starting to feel like reconfiguring your entire form, starting with the tongue. Enough babbling, hurry up and remove your clothes. Yes, all of them. Nothing must interfere with the flow of energy.”

“D-does it hurt a lot?” Izumi asked, starting to take off her breeches. “I’ve heard it can be pretty painful...the first time, at least.”

“Perhaps. You’ll get used to it soon enough. Are you truly saying you would be bothered by such meager discomfort, after all that you’ve been through?”

“I can’t help it! I’m allergic to needles!”

“Get onto the table.”

In front of Izumi was a narrow, rectangular table long enough for a person to lie down on, with a thick, colorful carpet pulled over it. Having reluctantly undressed, red out of embarrassment, Izumi covered her chest with her right arm, and awkwardly climbed onto the table, to lay down on her stomach on it.

“Do not move,” Carmelia said.

The sorceress snapped her fingers and the black dress that veiled her slender figure subsequently melted into nothing. A semi-transparent, oddly modern-looking bodysuit was left to cover her form to a barely sufficient degree, but her long arms and shapely legs were entirely bare.

Even that fairly conservative amount of skin exposure was too much for Izumi, who tightly squeezed her eyes shut.

Without further ado, the elven magician went on to take a pen-like instrument with a sharp needle attached on one end, and nimbly lifted herself onto the table, to stand on her knees over Izumi’s back. Had the woman been able to see that highly erotic positioning from an outside point of view, she probably would have fainted on the spot.

The occasion was not quite as sensual as one might imagine, however.

Although, in a way, it was also far more so.

“I will now engrave the runes onto your body,” Carmelia announced. “Such is the true form of secula sonatea, the arc of alignment. This way, the chosen words can be attuned for maximum compatibility, cast instantaneously, and they can never be removed from you, for as long as you live.”

“My old man would kill me if he ever saw me taking a tattoo...” Izumi bemoaned. “I’ve become such a rotten girl! Boo-hoo...”

“Keep still. I will begin.”

“Hn.”

The needle pricked the skin on Izumi’s upper back.

It hurt, of course, but the pain was different from what Izumi had expected. A mysterious, ticklish heat spread from the touch, permeating the skin, seeping through her muscles. It wasn’t any ordinary tattoo she was taking. The runes were not only drawn on her skin, her very soul was being marked by Carmelia’s magic. Once the arc was completed, something like a skin transplant wouldn’t be able to remove the characters. They would follow her to the grave.

“Humans are soft and malleable in both body and spirit. This is proving easier than I imagined it would,” Carmelia commented, cleaning the instrument after completing the first rune. “Well? Do you now regret pledging your allegiance to me?”

“There’s no other choice, is there?” Izumi replied with a sigh. “Killing the Emperor aside, there’s no way I can keep living in this world, unless I get stronger. So I suppose I should be grateful instead. No, honestly, I owe you a lot. Probably too much.”

“You feel indebted to me?” the sorceress asked, as if surprised. “Did it ever occur to you that beyond the common good of freeing us of a tyrant, I could have ulterior motives? Are you not afraid that I might make you my puppet, to only move by my will, until you break and can be discarded without care?”

“Do you have any then?”

“Ulterior motives, you mean?”

“No, a will to call your own.”

The sorceress fell quiet.

“Somehow,” Izumi continued, “I get this feeling that you’re never thinking about what you want for yourself. Not one bit. No matter how annoying, or painful, or bothersome something is, you’ll still do it without thinking, if it’s for the good of your people. Just for the ideal. And that’s probably the way you’ve been living for who knows how many centuries, right? You can even kill without any hard feelings, because you’ve been killing your own will and feelings for much longer.”

“...What makes you say that?”

“Just a thought. I mean, it might be presumptuous to say, but you kind of remind me of...me. Of how I used to be. Or tried to be, more like.”

“Used to be?”

“I grew up trying hard to live the way my family expected me to. All I wanted was to make those I loved smile, and so I made sure to do only what kept them happy. If only I did so, then I could be happy myself—I thought that childish way of thinking would get me through life without pain. But it was difficult. There were no monsters or apocalyptic happenings, but even without some, people sure can be difficult to please. No matter how well I did, they’d keep finding flaws and telling me to do better the next time. It got kind of scary, as I grew older. Before I realized, I got too scared to try anything I really wanted, because I feared it would make somebody mad. And the more people praised me for going along with their wants, the harder it got to even think about not doing it. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, so I quietly obeyed whatever they said, while killing my own will each day.”

“That is rather different from the way I perceive you,” the sorceress remarked.

“No kidding? Well, that was when I was young. I’m not living like that anymore, of course. You see, I kind of messed up. I was fifteen or so back then. Can’t remember too well anymore, I try not to think about it. Anyway, I did something that upset a lot of people. It would seem like a real petty thing to you now, but in just one moment, I lost the trust I’d built for all my life until that point. No one would ever hold any expectations for me again. No matter how many times I’d succeed after, they’d just expect me to ruin things soon again. Before I realized, my family had stopped seeing me as their child. I’d become just as a nuisance to them. A strain. A big waste of time and money.”

“I see.”

“Ah, it sure sucked at the time. But eventually, I realized something. If no one expects anything from you, then there’s no reason to try to please them either. In other words, for the first time in my life, I was left completely free to pursue my own dream. I could do whatever I wanted, and nobody cared enough to stop me. Well, that doesn’t mean blindly pursuing your dreams is always a good idea, and my dream happened to be pretty stupid. I ended up messing up my life for good. I could never hope to become like the others again, even if I wanted to. If I hadn’t been summoned to this world, it really would’ve been the end of the line for me. What a miracle, don’t you think?”

“So in coming here, you saw a chance to redeem yourself? Is that it?”

“Something better than that,” Izumi replied. “This is my real beginning. It’s only in the time I’ve been here that I’ve truly ‘lived’—that’s how I feel.”

Reflecting on her words for a moment, Carmelia ultimately returned to work.

“...I cannot comprehend a person like you.”

“Ow! Take it easy with the pointy thing!”

“Then, it was only because you killed your sense of self in the other world, that you feel nothing of killing now?” the sorceress asked.

“Well, not quite,” Izumi answered. “In the beginning, I didn’t even think this world was real, so I saw no problem in killing to get by. It was the easiest way for me. Living by the sword was my dream, after all. But...once I got started on that path, it got pretty hard to turn away. Even after accepting this world as real, only more problems of the same sort kept coming my way. So I kept killing, because I saw no other way forward. I couldn’t start to feel retroactively guilty about what was already past either. But...”

“But?”

“I do feel kind of guilty for not feeling guilty.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m not a total monster, all right. I can still love people. And I want to be loved back too, even if I’m bad at showing it. Since coming to this world, I’ve met a number of people who managed to steal my heart at first sight. But no matter what I do, it seems they keep on drifting away from me. I couldn’t be the person they needed me to be. It seems all I do is involve them in my own problems. As I thought, building a harem is kind of hard, even in another world...”

“And one of those people is the Langorian princess?” Carmelia deduced.

“Well, yeah,” Izumi nodded. “‘Is there anything I can do for her…?’ That’s all I’ve been thinking ever since I first got here. Protecting a princess is the hero’s raison d’etre, right? But, I’m not really helping her at all, huh? I can’t exactly say people are difficult to please in this case either, can I? While the people of my old world always kept asking me to do something better, all Yule ever wanted of me was that I don't hurt myself or anybody else...But that was the one thing I couldn't do. Ah, rather than me, that girl might need someone more like the other people from my world by her side...”

“Someone unreasonably demanding and unforgiving?” the sorceress asked.

“I was going for well-behaved.”

“And? What is it that her highness wants?”

“I have no clue.”

“You don’t know?”

“When we first met, she said she wanted to be reborn as a guy and do her life over. Since her parents wanted a boy. But that’s no good. That’s not a dream. It’s too sad to be called one. It doesn’t matter what your parents want, don’t make the same mistake I did! Unless you do it for yourself, because you want to, then there’s no meaning, is there?”

Carmelia’s hand stopped.

“...As I thought, this is distracting.”

4

The restaurant called Halio wasn’t a place for kings by any means. It was probably better described as a bistro and that was being lenient. A cramped little place with barely a dozen seats, it only had a few customers at this point of the day, with dirty floors and dust gathering on the old, yellow-red glass lanterns hanging from the ceiling.

Ignoring the absence of high class customer service, announcements, and fanfares, the Emperor took seat at a tiny table by the window. The Imperial counselors should have been horrified by this sudden whim of his, but none were presently there to advise against it. The driver of the carriage remained where he sat, without an opinion or the right to voice it. The hero Bramms as well merely took position by the front door, facing the street like a bouncer, to see to it that his majesty’s lunch hour wasn’t needlessly disturbed. And Yuliana, not knowing what else to do, took the chair opposite of the ruler, at his urgent beckoning.

“The house special for two, please!” the Emperor called out to a short, bald, withered old man behind the counter, who simply nodded without a word and disappeared into the kitchen in the next room.

Then they waited.

“What a beautiful day indeed,” his majesty said, gazing out of the window.

Yuliana remained silent.

The distance between them was greatly shorter than at breakfast times, but it didn’t help her understand his thoughts any better. Never would she have imagined that a man of his rank would do such a thing, all out of the blue. How carefree and relaxed was his countenance too, it was like he had become a different person entirely. Was this part of some bizarre strategy to win her trust? Or had he been sincere in claiming he wanted to spend the day free of all politics and state affairs? No, that couldn’t possibly be right. No one in his position could be so reckless as to forget what was at stake, even for one day.

The world could end in less than a year...Every single hour mattered.

“Ah, there it comes!”

As Yuliana was still absorbed in these dark thoughts, their meal was carried to the table. Two large plates were placed between them, bearing dishes the likes of which the princess had never seen before. She knew crude army food, as well as the most high-class courses prepared by masters of man-made cuisine, domestic and foreign, but the food she faced now made her forget all else.

“This is…?”

There was something like a large, flat bread, circular and folded in two, with a variety of fresh vegetables, grilled meat, and sauce stuffed inside. So generous was the filling that it partly poured out. The spicy, rich scent made Yuliana's stomach recall how empty it was, at once releasing a weak howl.

With boyish excitement on his face, the Emperor seized his fork and knife without delay.

“Oh, don’t wait for my permission,” he said and dug in.

His manners were far removed from the etiquette of the royal tables, as he sawed off one large piece at a time and hungrily stuffed them into his mouth, chewing with a look as if he hadn't seen real food for weeks.

With far more reservation, Yuliana followed suit.

“Hm…?” Taking a bite, she began to understand his majesty's enthusiasm.

She tasted soft-cooked, finely sliced Contagio cabbage, Param salad, ripe cherry tomatoes, and onions circles—perfectly sauteed, strongly flavored cuts of Honlan beef with a most delicious sauce blending an unknown and bold yet irresistible mixture of spices. Everything was bound together by the crisp-baked yet not too tough bread, which would have been appetizing enough to eat by itself.

For some time, they were too occupied by eating to pay attention to anything else.

It was only after clearing the whole plate that Yuliana set aside her utensils, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and raised her face.

“Anything else?” the grum chef curtly asked as he came to pick up the dishes. By this point, even the princess had forgiven his poor manners.

“Just water, please,” she ordered.

“An ale for me, master,” the Emperor requested.

Nodding, the chef disappeared into the kitchen once more.

“Well?” his majesty asked the princess. “Was the food to your liking?”

“It certainly was a novel experience,” Yuliana modestly answered. “How did you ever come across such a place, anyway?”

“It wasn’t always quail eggs and white wine for me. Before my...ascension, I was used to considerably more rustic flavors.”

“Somehow, that’s difficult to picture.”

“There is a lot about me that you don’t know yet,” he told her. “A lot I don’t know about yourself. And it is to mend this that we’re here today. Perhaps shared experiences like this will help us discover something that neither of us would be able to see alone.”

“Well, that is the first of your proposals I am not entirely opposed to,” Yuliana said.

“It’s a start then.”

The two spent some time in silence, savoring the after meal drinks delivered, as well as the rare, stress-free moment in their otherwise heavy lives. Then, halfway through his ale, the Emperor suddenly spoke in a contemplative tone,

“Survival of the fittest, the law of nature...Do you think life everywhere adheres to this cruel principle? That only the strong and ruthless may prevail? If so, then why were we people ever given conscience? Why do we have the freedom to think otherwise, to imagine we could rebel against a rule so dominant and ever present, and hope of better?”

Yuliana thought for a moment.

“I suppose the answer boils down to one’s definition of strength,” she said. “Where one person sees cruelty and ruthlessness as the most efficient course of action, another might see unity, and the show of compassion to one another. The leader of a country so used to warfare should know that many together are more powerful than any one alone.”

“Perhaps. Yet it is hardly compassion alone that drive armies, or holds them together. It is either fear or lies. Fear for what happens, should the enemy win. Lies which convince one that his cause is superior to that of the others, that the others are less than human, even though all life is supposed to be equal.”

“Is there something you’re trying to say with this, or are you simply taken by the message of nihilism in general?”

“I suppose you could say that I have expectations.”

“Expectations? For who.”

“Yourself, naturally. Yes, it wouldn’t be wrong to say I am depending on you, your highness. To come up with an answer that I am powerless to find on my own. To convince us all that your sense of justice is superior to my own.”

“So you’re testing me again? Is that it?”

The Emperor turned his ale glass in his grip.

“We are all being tested, each day. But that isn’t what I wanted to say. Let’s see. Since we have some time now, allow me to tell you a little story, to illustrate my dilemma.”

Unsure of where all this was going, Yuliana remained quiet and listened with caution. But the Emperor, with an almost exaggeratedly carefree air, didn’t mind her suspicious look, and spoke,

“I once heard this tale of a man from a land far, far away. That land was supposedly the very image of hope and peace. A place without knights or kings, without evil creatures or Divines, where everyone from peasant to noble was deemed equal. Everyone shared the equal chance to rise to prosperity through earnest effort, independent of their origins. Those people lived in a magical time when it seemed their possibilities were limitless, and that nothing could stop their growth. Indeed, they believed they could one day soon reach even the stars themselves. And this man I’m talking about was no different. Each day, he gave his all to be part of the success story, working to bring food and security to his family, his wife and daughter, all the while adding to the wealth of his people as a whole. And, who knows, to maybe one day show his loved ones a future brighter than they could imagine.”

“It sounds like a good country to live in,” Yuliana commented.

“The best. Ah, everyone thought the same, I’m sure,” the Emperor nodded. “However, this golden age did not last forever. One day, all too soon, the people of that land awoke to see their dream mercilessly crushed in one blow. Can you imagine how or why?”

“I suppose they fell victim to forces that coveted their prosperity?” the princess suggested after brief thought. “They enjoyed such peace that it lulled them under a false sense of security, and forgot to prepare against outside enemies. This man you describe no doubt ended up losing his family to the terrors of war, which he had grown powerless to resist. And furthermore, I reckon the message you’re going for is about how harmony makes one weak against adversity? Am I correct?”

“No, no, not at all. You would be sorely mistaken there,” the man shook his head.

Yuliana twisted her face, puzzled.

“They weren’t weak by any means and no enemy dared dream of attacking the country,” the Emperor told her. “No tragic disaster claimed the man’s family either. And yet, he nevertheless lost everything, as did countless others like him. Ah, perhaps this is a matter too difficult for one born into prosperity to grasp.”

“Then keep me in suspense no longer. I admit I can’t see the answer.”

“The reason was simple, yet beyond anyone’s ability to foresee at the time. The people lost their wealth—simply because they lost their faith in it.”

“Their faith…?”

“That’s correct. ‘We are doing so well right now, this cannot continue forever’—deep in their heart, everyone in that country felt the same. They each started to take measures to prepare for the inevitable crash, and in doing so, inadvertently caused it to happen. The land’s currency lost value overnight. People hurried to trade away their investments and property, to minimize their losses, which devalued the fortune they’d amassed all the same. Such are the laws of supply and demand. The value of countless products plummeted, as no one could afford them, leading enterprises to fire their needless employees. Not that the workers had any purpose doing their jobs either, as their salaries had lost all worth. Farms were shut down, leading to a shortage of food. Simply put, a dreadful chain reaction brought down everything that had made the land once great. Besides their work and property, many lost their hope for the future altogether and ended up taking their own lives.”

“That’s...terrible,” Yuliana whispered.

“The man of our tale couldn’t escape, of course. After losing his job, he lost his home, which he had taken a great debt to buy, and even giving up everything else he owned could not begin to pay it back. His family left him as well. Another man came around and offered his wife a more stable future; she didn’t think twice to take it. Powerless, the man watched everyone he loved drift away. There was no evil enemy to fight. Not monstrosity to swear undying vengeance against. Only cold, harsh numbers, illustrating the man’s own stupidity, the folly of his dreams.”

“What happened to him then?”

“He died, homeless and starved.” The Emperor shrugged. “He was a pawn to a fate he could never rise above. What could have saved such a man? Should he have been more ruthless and calculating? Had he killed his emotions, severed his bonds with his family before they could do the same to him, he might still be alive. Had he possessed the ambition and greed of his rivals, had he climbed to a position of leadership at his company, perhaps he could have somehow weathered the collapse? In a situation where one has no one else to rely on, where everyone shares his plight, who else could he count on but himself to pull through? You were correct in your assessment after all, on his part; peace and compassion had rendered him soft, unable to oppose his competitors.”

The Emperor fell silent.

Yuliana didn’t immediately answer him, but looked away.

Still, there was no way she could leave the tale at that.

“No,” she finally shook her head. “That may be true, in a sense, but there’s no way anyone with a human heart could blame that man for not resorting to evil. His hopes and dreams were exploited, but that doesn’t mean they were mistaken. The fault lies with those who took advantage of him, and those who turned a blind eye to his struggle. It’s because his land didn’t have knights to defend the basic rights that it fell to ruin. It’s because they lacked a wise king to foresee and prevent this crisis, and judge those who benefited of it. That land didn’t go through a golden age, after all; they were only unaware of the evil they had built their wealth upon, until it was too late. It is to prevent such tragedies that we must choose wisely. Not rule over people—but together with them. Choose with reason, but also with kindness. Kindness, like that of the man. Yes. I believe he would have made a far better king than any of those calculating pragmatists, who made it through the crash at the cost of the livelihood of others.”

“...”

The Emperor said nothing. He had a weird expression on his face, which he hurried to hide by looking out of the window. Knowing he couldn’t escape Yuliana’s perceptive gaze so easily, he absentmindedly got up from his seat, dug out a few gold coins from his pocket and left them on the table.

“We should be going,” he mumbled and headed out.

Really, what’s the matter with him today?

Her confusion hardly lessened, Yuliana rose as well and followed after the man, back to the sunlit street outside the restaurant.

Chapter 10: The Aged Metropolitan Plays Host to a Tragedy

1

The majestic Cathedral of Tenessia dominated the streetview in Falvale district, on the northern banks of the river Thuleois, the wide stream of which separated the district from the rest of Eskeleion.

Falvale was an orderly residential area with apartment complexes of white stone, housing a great number of the capital’s upper middle class inhabitants. Whereas their earthly needs were sated by the various service facilities around, the ancient Cathedral had been repurposed to meet the ever-growing demand for spiritual enrichment.

In other words, it provided a venue for quite profitable business.

The people taking part in the daily masses could spare a few coins for charity, in the hopes of curing the mild guilt that those with a full stomach were bound to feel next to those less fortunate—which the Gralia district a few miles east supplied without limit. Some of the poor from the slums, children and women mainly, would make the day trip to Falvale, to beg for change at street corners and secluded alleys, before being chased away by the guard patrols.

In the Cathedral markets were sold charms, magical items, blessings, curse-breaking services, exorcisms, fortune-telling, and so on, the effectiveness of them varying from mild to non-existent. Not all of the entrepreneurs worked for the Marquess, independent businesses were also welcome, so long as they could afford to rent a spot for their stand in the Cathedral hall. Also, of all transactions, the management taxed a meager percentage, which over time had produced quite a mountain of silver, and that further grew each day.

At the heart of all these operations was De la Cartá, an Archbishop and a Marquess in title, a corporate CEO in function.

Labeling the man a greedy, self-centered, money-grubbing hypocrite would have been easy—and perhaps largely justified—but a few did so. In this world, in this Empire of men, no one saw ethical problems in seeking earthly fortune through facilities of spiritual service. Rather, whatever way one could come up with to earn wealth and power was surely only to their personal credit. After all, in Tratovia, strength was everything.

The concept of sin was also missing. Good fortune as well as poor were both things to be earned and sold, like anything else about life, and nothing more profound than that. What awaited after death, no one could say for certain, and thus it was meaningless to even ponder.

No heavenly punishment was to be expected for making profit, as the old Marquess proved by his healthy example. Therefore, he had always been quite transparent about his prosperity and the benefits of it, took pride in them, and proclaimed it all the natural result of his inborn business sense. As a matter of fact, the old Archbishop was a widely liked figure, perhaps even more so than anyone of the ruling regime. It was undeniably thanks to his work, in part, that the city flourished.

The Cathedral building itself was, surprisingly enough, very much like a cathedral one might see in an entirely different world.

A large and sturdy, almost coffin-like building, of tranquil white stone, taller than it was wide, with high and narrow windows spotting the walls on two layers. The back end of the long building was split into hefty twin towers, with great bells of copper in the steeples on the top.

In the front part, framed by great pillars, was a grand, vaulted entryway, with a flight of wide stone stairs connecting it to the street level.

Already well before dusk, a line of guests had formed on said stairs, on top of which servants verified the identity of each, matching the invitation letters with the corresponding entries on the guest list. The unrest of recent days hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Cathedral staff, who exercised particular caution and took their time allowing entry, despite the growing line. A solid number of armored knights stood outside the building and at the entrance, ensuring with their mere presence that not even the more impatient guests would dare to cut in line.

Inside, the visitor would first come into a majestic entrance hall, often lined all around with small stands selling previously described spiritual goods and services. On this grand day, such crude shops had been cleared away. Instead, a small army of servants was there to receive the guests and, if necessary, take and store their coats and other belongings which weren’t needed inside.

Only slightly younger than the Imperial Palace, the Cathedral hardly lost to it in the exquisiteness of interior design. The polished marble floor of the entrance hall featured a check-pattern of white and jade-green tiles. On the ceiling, ageless art works of painters long gone, with themes of Divine lore, elicited gasps of awe from the guests, regardless of how many times they had seen them. The air was cool and fresh, speaking voices echoing from the voluminous walls.

Going further in, one came in a no less dignified vestibule, with marble stairs on both sides leading to the upper floor and storage rooms, presently off-limits, sealed off by thick ropes and informing placards across the way.

Forward from there came the nave, the vast central hall of the Cathedral, exhibiting the full splendor of the architecture of old. There were no benches to sit on, like in a church. The extensive floor space was largely clear today, save for tables set up on the far sides, where the necessary consumables would be placed, in no small quantities. So high was the nave not even a giant would have hit his head, the whole space illuminated with enormous gilded chandeliers, upon which countless magically powered candles gave off their stable radiance. Six hundred guests was a considerable number, but seeing the grandiose hall with one’s own eyes, it was easy to believe they would all fit in without compromising in personal comfort. Rather, there was bound to be space left over.

No more would the guests see of the Cathedral on this occasion, it was all they needed to, and in this regard, the princess of Langoria was no exception.

Although Yuliana and the Emperor weren’t among the first to arrive—for their continued tour around the city had taken them longer than expected—they weren’t subjected to the tedious wait in the line. Not at all. With stern Bramms making them way with his imposing presence alone, they walked brazenly up the stairs, past the awed guests, and were quickly admitted without any jarring introductions or verification of documents.

Even though Yuliana expected no less, her modest, chivalrous spirit couldn’t help but feel guilty, for passing so easily where her elders were left to wait their turn. Not that she would have joined them with pleasure, even if given the choice; as the sun started to set, the streets of Bhastifal were quickly turning chilly.

Meanwhile, the certain would-be assassin was looking at sides of the Cathedral no one else knew about. A small and flimsy fisher boat brought Izumi to the northern bank of the Thuleios, where an entry point had been previously identified. There was a small opening of a tunnel, half submerged in the water, so covered in dirt and natural in appearance that one had to wonder how it had been located in the first place.

“Mind showing the way?” Izumi asked the shady, cloaked man rowing the boat, after jumping off. Not saying a word, the man merely turned the boat around and sailed away downstream. Left standing near the shore, feeling lukewarm water flood her shoes, Izumi had to go on alone.

Sighing heavily, she crouched and entered the tunnel.

The way in didn’t look one bit inviting.

At times it was so cramped that Izumi was forced to crawl on all fours in the water, while even at the highest parts, she had to remain deeply crouched. Progress was painfully slow. She had to be careful not to hit her head on the sudden, rocky bumps along the way.

Needless to say, in addition to spare room, the tunnel was also utterly devoid of light sources. Not far in, Izumi found that she couldn’t see in any direction anymore. After a few more minutes of blind fumbling, her sense of direction became helplessly mixed.

Which way had she come from, which way was she going? The uneven, slimy walls appeared to oppose her in every direction. There was barely enough room left to turn around, her shoulders kept hitting the walls if she stepped even slightly aside. A few times her feet slipped on the soft, unstable path, and she nearly became fully submerged in the dirty, stagnant water.

Izumi hadn’t felt claustrophobic before, but neither was she in the habit of crawling into dark, tight places. Soon, she found that she had reached a new psychological limit she had never wanted to test.

“Come on, now’s not the time to panic...” she muttered and stopped, forcing her erratic breathing back under control. Doing her best to ignore her soaked clothes and the resulting discomfort, Izumi gathered focus and recalled the previous day’s lessons.

“Gehir...Osil.”

The root rune, which opened one’s form to change, and the rune of perception—casting the two now, Izumi tested if they would improve her situation.

As magical energy flowed into her eyes, her optic nerves started to pick up the normally imperceptible, minuscule amounts of natural light seeping in, allowing her to vaguely make out the interior of the narrow tunnel. Her vision was colorless and fuzzy, but it was a clear improvement nonetheless.

The way forward didn’t look any more encouraging than previously—rather, not seeing the hellish hole ahead had been a blessing—but at least Izumi could tell where she was going.

“Why do I have to do something like this…?” The joy of having obtained magical powers only warmed her heart faintly now, as she waded on. “This isn’t a job for a lady!”

The tunnel appeared to go on forever.

Izumi felt like she had been crawling on for at least an hour already, but there was no ending in sight. What if this was the wrong path? What if a part of it had collapsed? If she reached a dead end now, there would be no other choice but to return the same way. It would have been so much easier to just give up and die there.

Then, it appeared that her fears were going to turn real.

The tunnel abruptly ended in a pile of rubble.

No matter how she looked at it, Izumi saw no way forward. No side paths. Nothing. Despair already gripped at her heart—but then a random observation made her forget it. The messy end of the tunnel looked oddly bright and clear in her vision. Dragging herself closer to see better, Izumi discovered that the ragged path actually took a sharp turn upward, and the opening in the ceiling had simply been hidden from her point of view.

Moreover, there was clearly light coming from high above.

Squeezing through the turn, begrudgingly agreeing that large breasts were not always a thing to be grateful about, Izumi started to climb. Taking support of the deep cracks and corroded corners along the way, she pulled herself up, little by little. Higher and higher she ascended, one painful inch at a time, and as she advanced, the light showering her grew brighter, bright enough so that she had to deactivate Osil. One careless slip-up could have caused her to plummet back down to the bottom of this deceitful shaft, but the wild hope brought by the nearing destination banished the threat from her mind.

Finally, Izumi reached an iron grate riddled with ornate holes, like the lid of a drain. Through the holes, she could see that there was no more mud or rock, but a spacious, artificially walled room above. With only a bit of effort, she pushed the grate out of the way—it had clearly been loosened for her—and pulled herself up.

There she lied, sprawled on the cold stone floor for a while, catching her breath, congratulating herself for getting through another ordeal, as well as trying to gather the willpower to go on. She was tired by the effort, muddy all over, but it was only here that her actual mission could begin.

The room around appeared to be a storage of some kind. Only a few meters wide and deep, full of wooden barrels and grates. Small stone stairs led to a solitary doorway. The door was open. Or rather, there was no door to begin with.

“I’m not going to pass for a guest, looking like this...” Izumi examined her dirty clothes. Her face had to have been rather muddy too, and her hair wet. A mirror to make herself more presentable and a spare set of clothes—the latter was supposed to have been provided by an insider.

According to Carmelia, the disguise had been left somewhere near the entry point, and Izumi started to look for the quest item at once. She examined the dusty shelves by the walls, barrels and the grates, under them, between them, behind them…

...But found nothing.

There were some old bottles, half-burned candles, ladles, sacks, plates, rope, cobwebs, but nothing that could be identified as human clothing. Clearly enough, the insider hadn’t made things too easy for her, or else she really sucked at looking. Both, most likely.

Sighing, Izumi left the room.

Being spotted by a servant or a guard in her present state would have meant instant game over, with no retries, and her wet clothes and shoes left a distinct trail on the floor for anyone to follow. But there were no alternatives.

Out of the room, Izumi came to a bare, narrow corridor going straight ahead, with an intersection along the way. No places to run or hide. Listening close for footsteps, she discreetly made her way to the next corner, peeked her head around it, and gave a quick glance both ways.

Only an identical view met her.

Another long, featureless corridor, with two more intersections, left and right, respectively.

“What’s up with this place…! Where am I?”

Little by little, Izumi grew certain there were no other people around, and hurried her exploration.

But the more she learned about her surroundings, the more her confusion increased. The place was a downright maze. At the end of each corridor was a door. Some doors were locked, others were not. Behind the open doors were more storage rooms similar to the one she had entered through, with hardly better loot. There was a room with a great many wine bottles, but all unlabeled and dusty, clearly not for the party. Another room had crates with dry meat, not from this century. One more had long, wooden benches, piled along the walls in massive heaps.

Still, Izumi found neither party dresses nor a mirror. Or even a way out. After concluding her fruitless search to all the unlocked rooms, she realized she had to start going through the locked ones as well.

All the while the success of her mission was on a countdown.

“This...is going to get complicated, huh.”

2

Marquess De la Cartá looked shorter in person than one would have expected. A bit chubby, though not to the point of obesity, he was dressed in a light, white silk cassock, with a turquoise-patterned surplice over it. Around his neck hung various gold accessories, medallions and such, and on his fingers as well were a number of great rings bearing rare stones. On top of his head was a tiny, white hat, which couldn’t cover even the few short strands of gray hair still left on his scalp. De la Cartá’s wide face was quite sympathetic and humorous, however, and he greeted the Emperor and Yuliana with a wide smile.

“Well, there you are! Welcome! Welcome!” He approached them with open arms. “Worry not, for I have been informed of your circumstances, and am most happy to be depended on by his majesty. Dear friends, treat everything here as your own, and myself as your humble servant.”

Yuliana thought his greeting was a bit strange, but could think no deeper on it, when the Marquise already approached her directly.

“Princess Yuliana Da Via Brannan of Langoria, I presume,” the man shook her hand with fatherly warmth. “It is a pleasure. I’ve had the honor of meeting your father once in the past, and it was a privilege I shall never forget. A true man, he was. No doubt, still is. You were not yet born at the time but, seeing your highness in person, I deeply regret not coming to visit the proud Castle of Walhollem more often.”

“Eh, the honor is all mine,” Yuliana courteously answered.

“If there is anything at all that you need...anything...don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“Thank you, so I shall.”

—“Congratulations on your sixtieth birthday, your excellency,” the Emperor spoke and stepped forward to shake his hand, as if to save the princess from the older man’s mischievous eyes. “It is a reputable age you’ve reached, in this dangerous world.”

“Dangerous,” the Marquess repeated with a coy glance. “What danger could there be, as I spend all my time holed up indoors, counting numbers, bottles, and lovers? Of course, there is the ever-present danger of slipping on a bar of soap in a hot bath, but I thank the Divines it hasn’t happened just yet. Not to a fatal level, at any rate.”

“I am of the opinion that good luck is most certainly a talent.”

“And how lucky are you? I’m afraid I’d be left second in that contest.”

The Emperor lowered his voice and leaned slightly closer to the old man.

“I understand this is terribly amusing to you, but try to remember what is at stake. One careless word could bring...”

“Oh, don’t lecture me on my birthday, you’re much too green for that,” the Marquess interrupted him with a snort. “Do you think one still fears death at my age? I’ll have you know I’m not terribly fond of that boy. I only agreed to this because it amused me, and because I happen to have something of a personal interest in you, my friend. After everything I’ve achieved in life, games of destiny like this are all I have left to look forward to. I’ll gladly die to witness it unfold, if I must.”

“...I see you have elected your path then.”

“But I’m not going to die!” De la Cartá added in a lighter tone and spread his arms. “I practically own this city! What would happen to it without me? You know that, don’t you? A ruler rules, but it’s the ones who keep the industry running that really make or break an empire. If I’m not indispensable, then who is, pray tell?”

Even at the face of this rather scandalous statement, the Emperor remained composed.

“I assure you, I am better than aware of the intricacies of economy.”

“And that is why you are here,” De la Cartá nodded with a more serious look. “Please, your highness...your majesty...enjoy the food and drinks. Enjoy life. For all it lasts.”

The Marquess turned away, ending the brief meeting. Naturally, there were a great many more people he had to meet and greet tonight. Gesturing for the princess to follow, the Emperor left to return where the rest of the guests were gathering.

“What was that about?” Yuliana couldn’t help but ask with a confused look.

The Emperor she had grown to know wouldn’t let such remarks go without consequences—but the man stepping beside her only answered with a careless shrug.

“The old fool has lost his marbles. Pay no heed to his ramblings. All I am counting on him for is setting the stage, and in that, I’d say he has done adequately enough. Before anything else, this is a night for us, remember?”

“So that we may see eye to eye, is that it?”

“If all goes well,” he answered. “Come now. I shall use my authority to secure the best parts of the lobster for you.”

“Hey!” she laughed. “Are you promoting diplomacy or trying to turn me into a pig?”

3

It took Izumi quite some time to find a way forward, but she finally did. One of the locked doors hid no costumes but there were stairs taking upward. Following them, she reached a hallway larger than before, where servants occasionally passed through, on the way to retrieve supplies. Apparently, she had progressed from the abandoned underground storage rooms to storage rooms that were still actively in use.

The main hall couldn’t have been far off now. Barely avoiding detection, she slowly advanced in the direction the servants were coming from, before spotting a lone maid coming in with an empty tray on her hands.

The maid was roughly Izumi’s size.

“Snake, if you’re out of ammo, then you gotta pick some up on the battlefield…”

Stealthily following the maid into a room full of kitchenware, Izumi caught the poor woman in a chokehold from behind. Applying pressure as gently as possible, she kept the hold until her victim ceased her struggle and fell limp.

“I’m really sorry about this, but the fate of the world is at stake,” she apologized, checking that the woman resumed breathing, and quickly started to take off her skirt. “Not enjoying this. Nope. Not at all. It’s a terrible thing to do to another person. Nice undies, by the way. Real retro.”

Tying the maid’s hands and legs with improvised binds and gagging her with a napkin, Izumi hid her behind a heap of boxes. Then, double-checking that no one was coming, with shaking hands, she put the acquired costume on, tying up and veiling her dirty hair with a white scarf. She examined her disguise using the polished silver tray for a mirror. There was no helping her foreign looks, but she definitely seemed like a simple worker now and nobody too suspicious.

“Well, aren’t I just too pretty for my own good?” She nodded approvingly.

Giving the room one last look, to see if the captive wasn’t easily spotted, Izumi gathered her courage, picked up some random utensils to take with her, and headed out.

Walking briskly through the hallway, trying to appear like she belonged there, she ran into a male servant along the way. The frown he gave her was a bit disconcerting, but he wasn’t slowing down, at least.

“Busy night, huh!” Izumi said to him with a smile, while passing.

A mistake.

“Wait, who are you?” the servant immediately stopped and spun around to question her.

BANG! Izumi whacked him in the head with the large tray, knocking the man out. Subsequently, all the spoons, forks, and knives she had been carrying were sent flying all over the floor and bouncing off the walls, making a lot of noise and leaving a hideous mess in the hallway.

“Okay, this is not good. Nerves. Nerves.”

The number of captives increased by one, Izumi tried again, this time determined to apply more discretion in spite of the disguise. Fortunately for her, no more servants were coming, for the time being. She found another set of stairs, that took her further up, until she stepped out—not into a hallway, but into the vestibule between the entrance hall and the nave.

Ahead was a rope drawn across the way, with a placard warning the guests, and beyond that, the way to the central hall. The doors had already been closed. Apparently, all the expected guests were already inside. Going in now was bound to attract unnecessary attention, no to mention that the doorway was guarded by two armed knights. They were no doubt going to ask some tricky questions, if she approached them by herself.

Izumi looked right. There was another set of stairs, taking up to the second floor. She decided to take this path, hoping it would give her a better overview of the situation. Her intuition wasn’t mistaken there. Rushing up the stairs, she came to the east-side balcony spanning the entire length of the nave, not in use during the party.

By the guests, anyway. Izumi saw a number of armed knights positioned by each pier, keeping an eye on the guests below, over the railing. At least six of them on this side alone.

“The heck?” Izumi frowned, taking cover by the entryway. “’Minimal security’...Yeah, right.”

If they spotted any suspicious movement down in the hall, the guards would raise an alarm. Even if she could find a way down into the hall, she wouldn't be able to approach the Emperor without catching their attention. Then the doors would be blocked, there would be no way out. The result would be exactly the chaos and bloodbath of her most pessimistic expectations. Now that the reality of it stood before her, she wasn't all that eager to follow through. Izumi had found her way inside, but there remained a near insurmountable distance between her and the target, who was somewhere in that faceless mass swarming downstairs.

What could she do?

Try to eliminate the second floor guards, one by one?

No, there was a similar balcony on the west side, and more guards. They would notice if their colleagues started disappearing right in front of them. Then, maybe create a distraction and lure them away from their positions? No, if there was any impression of a threat, they would probably evacuate the Emperor first, resulting in a critical mission failure.

There has to be a way. Think, think, think...

—“Hey! You there!”

At that moment, Izumi heard an angry voice coming from behind her.

Before she realized, someone had appeared on the landing at the base of the stairs and spotted her. A man dressed in a black suit, with a short mustache and sleek black hair. With quick feet, the man ran up the stairs to her.

She was in trouble.

The nearest knight had heard the shout and was already giving her the evil eye. Caught between the fire and the frying pan, Izumi had nowhere left to go. Was it going to turn into a fight, after all? Had she failed before even trying? All hell would break loose. The Emperor would immediately escape, and all would be ruined. In the worst case, Izumi herself would be caught. Game over.

However, as she hesitated, the suited man already reached her and stopped.

Instead of calling the guards, he brought his voice down and asked in an irritated tone,

“Are you here to work or spectate? Well?”

“Eh?”

It seemed the man hadn’t realized Izumi wasn’t part of the work force yet.

Surprised, she caught onto the slim hope and hurried to reply,

“W-work, of course. Why, I was—just taking a little breather, that’s all!”

“A breather?” he gasped. “Now’s really not the time for that, missy! I sent someone to retrieve glasses and a bottle of Bourdelain forever ago and they still haven’t come back. The guests will toast any moment now and we can’t serve the Emperor any old cow piss! By the Lords, people just disappear into thin air when I’m not looking! This night is shaping up to become the greatest disaster in my career! You go get them!”

“Just leave it to me!” Izumi said, striking a militaristic salute. “I’ll take care of it!”

“Music to my ears. Be quick now! Bourdelain, remember; the ‘69 vintage. The Emperor is a connoisseur of wines, he’ll have us hanged if we serve him a subpar product. And two glasses. Run, woman, run! I’ll wait here, I’ve already walked too much today, my feet are killing me!”

“Gotcha!”

Izumi ran straight back to the cellar room where she had hidden the captured servants. Both had regained consciousness by now. Propping the male servant up to a sitting position, she removed the gag and blindfold, and asked,

“Where can I find me some Boulder-rain, sixty-nine vintage?”

“What? Bourdelain?” the servant repeated, confused. “What are you going to do with that? No, wait, who the—”

—“One chance to answer, then your pinky goes. This is a matter of national security, and I’ll have you know I’ve seen all seasons of 24.”

“That’s...I-in the next room. The bottles by the left-hand wall. You can’t miss them, the name is on the label—mmphh-hmm!”

Izumi put the gag and blindfold back on.

“Thanks Jeeves. Someone will come free you someday soon, I’m sure. And no peeking, you’ve got lady company.”

Izumi returned to the mustache man with a bottle of Bourdelain and two glasses on a tray, thanking Aiwesh at heart for the ability to read this odd world’s writing.

“Excellent!” the servant nodded. “Follow me and pray his majesty is in a good mood.”

“Oh, he’ll be in seventh heaven. Real soon.”

4

Silence spread in the hall. Ahead in the bema at the back of the hall, before the multitude of guests, the Marquess himself had taken the elevated speaker stand, requesting attention. The acoustics of the Cathedral carried his voice without trouble even to those further away. Not that Yuliana had any trouble in that regard. In the Emperor’s company, she had a front row position, while the other guests kept a respectable distance. However, she noted that Bramms wasn’t present. At some point, the hero had left them, without announcing his destination. Not that Yuliana wanted to know, in particular.

Even in the warrior’s absence, there was no need to worry about security.

On the balconies above, along the aisles under them, behind the Marquess, there were armed knights everywhere. Yes, they weren’t De la Cartá’s own mercenaries, but men from the Imperial elite forces. Why so many of them? Only because the Emperor was there…?

“Good evening,” the Marquess greeted his audience. “And thank you all for coming. It greatly pleases this old heart to see so many come celebrate him. How old was I again? My memory has not been quite what it used to be...”

The guests politely laughed at the generic joke.

“After I am gone, what will be left of me?” he continued on a more serious note. “It may seem too early to consider such things, but consider it I have. How will I be remembered? What will be my legacy to the Empire that has taken such good care of me over the past three decades? As a matter of fact, I’ve thought about this ever since the premature passing of my good friend, the previous Emperor, Estafallan VI. Divines rest his soul. What is remembered of his grace today? What kind of a legacy did he leave us? How did knowing him change me as a person? We are all part of a great continuity, links in a chain that connects everyone and everything. It is both a comforting notion, as well as fearsome one. Not one of us is alone, and not one of us will go unjudged by the rest.”

It was uncanny how silent such a large space could get, Yuliana thought.

“I want to be remembered as a benefactor, above all. Thanks to me, Bhastifal has an effective press to share important daily news. Which has, in turn, improved the rate of literacy, the rate of employment, on top of increasing people’s awareness of the kind of a world they live in. Sadly, I have also seen this great asset be abused for the benefit of the few. As one among this powerful minority, I lack the right to judge such maneuvers, but I am saddened by it all the same. After I am no more, I would like someone to take a good look at what we’ve been doing. And condemn us. So that things can be better for the generations that come after us. I suppose this is the greatest fear we old people have. To see the fruits of our efforts to elevate our beloved country fall in the wrong hands, and be used to undo everything we believed in.”

Somewhat confused whispers could be heard here and there.

“But, no matter what the future brings us, I hope that all of you big-pockets out there can continue to support the work of this Cathedral, which has provided for the poor of Bhastifal for over two decades. Your generosity has helped save lives and reduce the crime rate that has plagued our beautiful city for so long. May the Divines bless you for your kindness and generosity. I am sure you will be glad for it the next time you have to take a walk out at nighttime—and not get robbed along the way.”

As soft laughter rang out all around them, the mustached servant, Izumi in his wake, made their way through the crowds.

“Hurry,” he urged her. “His excellency is buying us time to save face!”

“I’m trying,” Izumi replied, doing her best to hold the tray still. A lot of people had no intention of making way for a mere servant.

“Ah, over there. On your best behavior now.”

Finally, they reached the front part, and the servant located the Emperor with his sharp gaze. Not that it was particularly difficult. His majesty had the best spot, with a polite distance to the other guests. Izumi felt her pulse quicken.

It was now or never.

They were approaching the target from behind, unnoticed.

The hero Bramms was nowhere to be seen.

Another opportunity like this might never come. She had to kill the Emperor here, before he turned and recognized her. She would break a glass, activate Sifl, and cut his artery before the guards could act.

Gripping the tray, Izumi braced herself, her pulse something fierce, parted her lips to name the runes. And—

——She stopped.

The Emperor wasn’t alone.

As the servant moved out of her way, Izumi saw that right next to his majesty stood a beautiful young woman—a girl.

Izumi nearly dropped the tray out of shock.

It was not an illusion.

It was her.

No way Izumi would ever confuse her for another.

Yuliana was there.

Yuliana.

Her Yuliana and no other.

What!? How? Why? What’s going on!?

“What are you still waiting for?” the servant grunted at her. “Come on!”

“Bathroom,” Izumi replied, shoved the tray on the servant’s hands and spun around.

“Wha—wait, what...?”

Too late. Izumi had already disappeared back into the crowd.

—“Hm?”

Wondering what the jarring commotion was about, Yuliana glanced over her shoulder. She saw a male servant with a mustache standing aghast there, holding a tray with two glasses of white wine. With a dry cough, the servant quickly regained his composure and brought the drinks over.

“Your majesty. Your highness.” He bowed and held out the tray.

“Took your sweet time,” the Emperor commented, taking a glass.

“My deepest apologies,” the servant bowed deeper.

“Ever heard of this thing called ‘being discreet’?” Yuliana asked.

“I have no excuse...” the servant silently wondered if there would come a next time.

A short distance ahead of them, Marquise De la Cartá smirked and raised his own glass.

“To this beautiful city,” he said. “To progress. And to good health.”

All six hundred guests raised their glasses as well.

—“To good health! Happy birthday!”

Everyone emptied their glasses at varying speeds. Yuliana thought the drink had exceptional depth of flavor, rich sweetness complemented by fruity acidity, and a most pleasing aroma.

“Hm, it was worth the wait,” she voiced her opinion.

“Really?” The Emperor looked in his already empty glass. “They all taste the same to me.”

Servants gathered the empty glasses, after which the guests went for the main course, laid out during the speech. They dined, spoke with various people, ate some more, not with hungry wanton as in a rural banquet, but with sophistication, only a bit at a time, to give a natural context for all the socializing. It wasn’t the first such occasion the princess of Langoria had seen, and she quickly sank back to her often rehearsed public persona, giving her usual stock responses to the repeated, generic queries.

Only a few weeks ago, deep in the Felorn forest, she had never imagined she would be playing the part of a princess again. Not that she really wanted to. The previous celebration she had attended wasn’t so easily erased from memory. Fortunately, such primitive threats looked distant and unlikely here, in the heart of the Empire, of modern civilization.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t bring herself to fully enjoy the occasion either.

Then, her solitary reflections were interrupted by the merry sound of a flute. The lone instrument was soon joined by others in a delicate song, turning everyone’s attention to the sizable orchestra, which had appeared on the minstrel’s gallery high up.

“Ah, music!” the Emperor exclaimed. “Shall we dance?”

“Eh?” Yuliana blinked, surprised by the invitation.

“Surely you do know how to dance, your highness?”

“Why, I do, but...I didn’t think you cared for such things.”

“Well, there is another misapprehension we ought to fix. If you would be so kind.”

The man extended his hand to her. With a half-ironic curtsy, Yuliana took it and they moved to the clearer central floor, where few other pairs were joining the song.

There was indeed nothing particularly wrong with the Emperor’s dancing skills, even while he was not a passionate performer either. But though a bit stiff, his lead was stable, courteous, reliable. Yuliana could easily forget about the motions and simply follow along with light feet.

“Do you think there will still be dance in the world, a year from now?” she asked.

“I do,” he answered. “If only we make it so.”

“A confident answer. Do you ever doubt yourself?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t speak of it. That would be my last mistake.”

“Is it really so bad, being an Emperor? That you have to trade away your humanity for it?”

“You ask me such a thing, as a princess?”

“It is because I am a princess that I must be more human than the average,” Yuliana answered. “I must be the example that my people will follow. I must show them the best of themselves, but also, that it is normal to have weaknesses. Otherwise, what would become of them?”

“They should figure what to be for themselves and not depend on princesses to show them.”

“Not everyone can be so strong. Even such people we must embrace and guide.”

“It takes a heart stronger than my own to love all,” he said.

“If that’s true, then why are you trying to save them?” she asked.

“Even if I don’t love them, that doesn’t mean I want their deaths.”

“Then why do you kill them?”

“Unless the weak and foolish are culled, everyone will be doomed. My wants and wishes cannot change this.”

“Are those your own beliefs? Or must you say them as an emperor?”

“Beyond an emperor, I am nothing. Should I stop being what people expect me to be, then I will cease to be altogether.”

“You always speak in riddles. Are you still mocking me? Do you take me for a child, unable to understand the weight of responsibility?”

“I wouldn’t dare. You are strong and you are sharp. And I fear for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes. I fear that the harsh future we face will shatter you like a crystal vase. I am trying to take your burden to bear it on your behalf, commit the evil you are incapable of, but you will not let me. And I fear that seeing a heart as beautiful as yours be broken will destroy what little is left intact of mine. Then we will both be equally lost, and the world together with us. I cannot allow this to happen.”

“Crystal vases and hearts? Now you are a poet as well?”

“I will don whatever mask best suits my needs. For the sake of our world, I will become an artist as well as a butcher.”

“Why not a friend?”

“Will friendship help us?”

“It will help us help ourselves.”

The Emperor fell silent and looked away. They continued to dance, turn around, oblivious to the admiring, envious, enthralled gazes they were attracting.

Then, he suddenly spoke again,

“Let’s run away.”

“Excuse me?” Yuliana couldn’t believe her ears.

“Leave this city together with me. We’ll quit the Empire, leave these cold, distant walls, and conspiring villains behind. Forget all these lies, corruption, and bloodshed. I will follow you wherever you choose to go, as your sword and shield. Even to the land of daemons, if you want to. Just the two of us. Let us take fate in our own hands, as you say.”

“You test me again.”

“I speak my true feelings. Perhaps for the first and only time in my life.”

Yuliana averted her face.

For a fleeting second, she considered the proposal. What if she agreed? Would he really come with her? Would she be able to return to her original purpose, with this man as her ally? If there was anyone in the world, who could understand her motives and feelings, was it not him, royalty like herself? He would understand what they were getting into and not regret it, even should it cost them their lives. Moreover, she wouldn't have to regret it. Wasn’t this the ideal path for her? If she went with him, Yuliana would be able to face her fate with peace.

But…

“It’s impossible,” she said.

“Because you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you. That much.”

“Yet you refuse me.”

“We’d never make it. They’d hunt us down. And—we wouldn’t be able to do it alone. I foolishly thought I could, when I left home, but...a lot has happened since. I’ve been made to face my weakness again and again, and I understand now. Both the Empire and Langoria are needed to succeed. Humans, elves...we need everyone in the world to lend us a hand, if we are to best the daemons and carve our path to the ends of the world. That’s why, we can’t run away. We can't be the change, but we can begin it. By choosing it. Right here. Right now. And every moment from hereon.”

“...”

The Emperor said nothing but stopped.

He let go of Yuliana and a distance was created between them.

“I admire your wisdom and resolve,” he said, a hollow, lightless look in his eyes. “But it will not be enough to overcome the darkness of this land.”

5

Izumi wandered amid the guests with a vacant look, pretending to gather glasses. Her mind was in a state of thorough confusion and disarray. Why was Yuliana there with the Emperor? Wasn’t she held captive? Why did it look like she was free and there of her own will, in such a beautiful costume too? Why had no one told her she would be there? Watching the two dance from a distance, intimately whispering to one another, Izumi’s stormy feelings were only stirred more.

There was no way she could murder the man in cold blood, right in front of the princess’s eyes. Yuliana would hate her forever if she did.

Then, what could she do?

Perhaps there was a way to take Yuliana, sneak out, and escape the city? But that would have meant betraying her promise to Carmelia…To begin with, was the princess even willing to go with her? Didn’t she have her own reasons, her own goals, which had nothing to do with the woman from the other world? Every minute spent second-guessing elevated the risk of being exposed. Izumi knew this, but it didn’t make the decision any easier.

What was she to do?

At the same time, Izumi felt strangely hurt.

The princess and the Emperor—they looked uncannily good together.

The tall, powerful frame of an adult man, how well it shielded the gorgeous flower by his side, complemented her. And then there was Izumi herself, an assassin without honor, a remorseless, penniless, underhanded killer, the robber of maids, the explorer of sewers, and a pervert to the core.

“Darn, darn, darn, darn, darn, darn it...When did my life in another world go so wrong…!?”

The mission was a failure, no way around it.

The only choice left was to retreat, quietly exit the building. So long as she left no traces, no one would be able to realize what had happened or pin it on Carmelia. It was still safe. They could try again another time. Yes, there was no plan B and only two days left of the week, but nothing could be done about that.

But then, something happened.

Something that changed everything.

A loud, collective gasp awoke Izumi from her frantic thoughts.

The dance stopped. The music stopped. Everyone’s attention was suddenly drawn to the front part of the hall. What they were so intently looking at with horrified faces was the old Marquess. De la Cartá was kneeling on the floor, clutching his chest, a shattered wine glass beside him. The man’s eyes were rounded in shock, as strength rapidly drained from his limbs. Unable to breathe, a quiet groan escaped his throat, but no audible words. Then, having lost the struggle against the poison coursing in his veins, he fell on his face and ceased to move.

Decidedly dead.

Numerous shrieks and cries of astonishment created thunderous noise the hall, and all the hundreds of guests started to shift towards the exit, against the guards’ feeble attempts to calm them. No, weren’t they practically throwing them out? What on earth was happening?

Izumi remained still as frightened guests flooded past her, dazed, unable to comprehend any of it.

Suddenly, someone was standing right beside her.

Izumi turned her head and saw it was the head servant, the one with the mustache. He took her hand and put something in it. Looking down, she saw it was a small blade, similar to a paper knife, featureless and easily hidden. She faintly recalled seeing a similar sting once, in the hands of someone else, but it felt like it had been a lifetime ago.

“From ashes comes life,” the servant sternly told her and hurried out along with the guests.

Clutching the blade, a sense of purpose returned to Izumi. She looked up and saw the Emperor leave in the opposite direction from everyone else, leading the princess by the arm, towards a smaller doorway in the far back of the hall.

Suddenly, things started to make sense to her again.

“Now you’ve done it…!”

Picking up the pace, she ran after the two, a sense of dread gripping her heart.

6

"Follow me.”

The Emperor led Yuliana through a doorway in the apse. Through it, they climbed up the stairs, floor after floor, before arriving in a spacious room somewhere between the two belfry towers. Like the hall below, the room had been cleared of furniture, save for a small table left in the very middle.

“The Marquess is dead...murdered. Why?” Yuliana questioned him, shaking her arm loose from his hold. “Why would anyone do such a thing? Why now, at a time like this? In his own birthday party!”

Approaching the lone table, the Emperor answered,

“The Circle of Pale Ashes would.”

“Who?” Yuliana thought the name sounded vaguely familiar, but knew no better.

“He was a necessary sacrifice, to set the stage,” his majesty continued, turning around. “Nothing more complicated than that.”

His expression had returned forcibly neutral, unemotional and distant.

“The stage?” the princess frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Recognize this?”

Picking up a piece of paper that someone had left on the table, the Emperor presented it to the princess. With suspicion, Yuliana walked closer and took a look at the document—quickly recognizing the contents.

It was the gias scroll—the one written for her, binding her to act against her fatherland under the pain of death, which she had refused to sign.

“I have understood certain things this week,” the Emperor told her, placing the contract back onto the table. “You will not yield before threats. You cannot be bribed nor seduced. You cannot be coerced without breaking your body and mind beyond recovery, rendering you useless to our cause. You will sooner take your own life than compromise on the safety of your kingdom and her people. No arguments can change your mind, once made up. Then this document is useless, as it is. Unless you will sign it yet, by your own will. Would you consider it?”

“You...” Yuliana looked at the man in disgust. “You had the Marquess killed? Just to make me sign that...?”

“Not quite. I knew De la Cartá would die, yes. He brought it upon himself. I did not give the command, but I counted on it happening all the same. In the hopes that it would make you see the light of reason. And recognize the kind of reality we live in.”

“Reason?” the young woman spat. “All I see here is pure madness!”

“...I was afraid you would say that. You cannot be forced and neither can our cause be rationalized to you. Indeed, during our time together, I have perceived but one weakness in your impeccable fortitude. That is, your friends. Both of them have been delivered outside my grasp. But perhaps one will yet come back, of her own volition.”

The Emperor looked up and nodded towards the entrance.Yuliana turned.

Someone had appeared in the doorway, a maid. Tearing the white scarf off her head, the maid quickened her pace and ran at them with a determined, furious look.

Of course, she was not a maid.

“Izumi!?” Yuliana cried, bewildered, recognizing the woman in her unusual getup.

Gritting her teeth, Izumi charged straight at the Emperor.

At this point, it was too late for regrets. As she had predicted, the plan had been compromised from the beginning. Her moves were being read, anticipated, every step of the way. The Emperor had taken Yuliana for a hostage, no doubt to force Izumi’s hand.

Retreat was simply not an option anymore.

Only success, at whatever cost.

Through solid stone.

Through blood and tears.

He was all alone. Where were his guards? Perhaps he had been counting on Yuliana's presence to hold Izumi back. As if it mattered anymore. To save the princess, Izumi could deal with being hated. Whatever the Emperor was planning, it was useless. Useless. All useless.

It didn't matter.

Surely only a God would be able to still her killing hand now.

“Hope you saved a bunch, ‘cos it’s a bad end for you!” Izumi shouted and leaped in the air, raising her weapon, to overwhelm her solitary opponent, to crush him, to bury him. For once and for all.

But reach him, she didn’t.

At that moment——for no explicable reason, the very air between the two exploded.

Izumi was struck back by the impact, cast across the air. With effort, she twisted her hips to fix her orientation mid-flight and landed on her feet, sliding a good distance over the polished stone floor.

Yuliana had instinctively shielded her face from the abrupt flash, and now quickly opened her eyes again. To her amazement, she saw that another person had appeared out of nothingness, to block the assassin’s path.

A woman of inhuman beauty, with long, deep blue hair.

That divine vision was all the princess saw.

In the next instant, a wall suddenly surged up from the floor, dividing the entire room in two. That dense barrier shortly separated her and the Emperor from the two other people.

“Izumi!” Yuliana called, striking at the wall. To no avail. That wall was not a trick or an illusion but of solid stone, at least two feet in thickness. The magic to produce such a thing clearly exceeded ordinary human ability.

What was happening on the other side, there was no longer any way for her to tell.

Only faint tremors carried through, along the marble floor.

“I didn’t see that coming, okay...”

Izumi, on the other hand, had a better view of the situation.

In front of her stood Divine Lord Cinithlea, who had repelled her with a light display of mystical power. Cinithlea wasn’t alone either. On the right, a distance away, stood Gwanlyn in her simplistic kimono. It was her power, which had created the wall, manipulating the stone naturally present in the building, as easily as though it were part of her own body.

“Then, the third one must be...”

Searching for the missing spirit, Izumi's senses picked up movement from above. She stepped back, barely in time to avoid the agile figure of Yubilea dropping down at her out of nothing, both the spirit’s feet veiled in shoes of bright red flame. The moment she hit the floor, without suspense, Yubilea kicked up and back, aiming at Izumi’s unshielded head. Activating Sifl, however, Izumi evaded by a hair and jumped back to get over a safer distance.

For a moment, those present were locked in a staring contest of unparalleled intensity.

“I see,” Cinithlea spoke with a faint smile. “I perceive a familiar pattern in your magic. It appears you have gained powerful supporters, mortal. Now I know how you were able to survive the encounter with our protege.”

“On the other hand,” Izumi replied, “I expected better than kicks and punches from you guys. Compared to the Divines I’ve met before, you don’t seem that big a deal anymore. Maybe you shouldn’t have started playing favorites?”

“Indeed, we are paying a heavy toll for our bias,” the blue spirit replied. “The power of the Covenant goes beyond your paltry mortal vows. But even if reduced to mere shadows of our former selves, there are things we cannot allow to pass.”

“Why? I thought all you cared about was lazing off and pampering the big guy.”

“It is ultimately for Waramoti’s sake that we are here. The Emperor has learned of our weakness; he has threatened to dispatch the hero overseas, unless we do him this favor. Regrettably, even our power would not protect the man upon the lost continent. Therefore, there is no other choice but for you to die tonight, in exchange for our inspirator’s safety.”

“Oh, is that so?” Izumi replied. “As popular as it makes me feel, I really don’t have the time to play with you now. Somebody important to me needs a hand.”

“The vessel of White?” Cinithlea guessed. “My apologies, but keeping you from that child is one of the core tasks given to us tonight.”

“And fortunately for us,” Gwanlyn spoke, “it is night time and the White Death slumbers. No one is coming to your rescue, mortal.”

“Low as we may have fallen,” Yubilea said, “we have until daybreak. That’s more than enough time to destroy one feeble human!”

The red spirit dashed at Izumi, leaving a faint, fiery trail in the air.

Her flame-coated feet glided over the floor unhindered by friction, crossing the distance in an instant. Izumi tried to keep calm and analyze her opponent the same as always, but the dire circumstances were undeniably getting to her nerves.

A way past the three spirits, a way to reach Yuliana—she couldn’t see any.

All she could do was keep her focus in the moment and try to survive.

Yubilea appeared to be the close combat type, while the two others kept their distance. With the fury of a firecracker, the Lord of Scarlet Flame attacked Izumi with rapid kicks and punches of deadly force, augmented by her element. Even though she had a human vessel, her movements were free of hindrances characteristic to ordinary people. Normally, there should always be a slight delay between one’s actions, due to the necessary contraction and relaxation of musculature. But the body of the spirit of red flowed from one technique to the next uninterrupted, with the agility of a seasoned dancer.

Normally, a mortal fighter even with Izumi’s experience would have been swiftly overwhelmed.

But Izumi had the spells Carmelia had taught her.

Keeping Sifl active, she endured the heat of Yubilea’s flames and evaded her attacks. The human form gave the spirit the power to interfere with the physical world, but that familiar build also allowed Izumi to read and anticipate her better. Occasionally, Yubilea's attacks would leave behind a dangerous wave of flame, extending her reach, but Izumi stuck up close and kept moving aside to avoid them.

“Stay still, will you!” the irritated Divine yelled at her.

“Can’t do that,” Izumi replied with faked confidence.

In truth, evading was all she could do. There was no opening for a counterattack anywhere. The limiter Carmelia had placed on Sifl prevented her from accelerating her speed—accelerating her time, that is—to dangerous levels. But even the swiftness that greatly exceeded an average person was barely enough to match the Divine Lord's movements.

Perhaps there was a way to break through, if she got a bit forceful...But the presence of the two other Lords couldn’t be ignored either. For the time being, they simply observed from a distance, but there were no guarantees that they wouldn’t join the fight if they saw cause to it.

If Izumi let herself fall here, who would save Yuliana?

What was happening on the other side of the wall?

Was the Emperor’s goal only to get rid of the threat to his life?

Or was Izumi herself being used for some ulterior purpose?

If so.

If that was the case.

Then had she, by coming here, only served to make things worse for Yuliana…?

“Khh…!”

That thought wrenched Izumi’s heart worse than any threat against herself.

“You have some guts, mortal, looking away while I'm your opponent!” Yubilea growled at her. “But how do you like this then?”

The spirit leaped in the air, as if to strike from above. However, at that moment, her form burst into brilliant flames and vanished with a loud crack.

“That move…!?”

Instinctively, Izumi felt a connection.

It was only a gut feeling, but she reacted to it immediately, and turned around.

Where her back had been facing, the air was torn by another explosion of flame out of nothing, and through those flames dived Yubilea’s youthful figure, braced to strike at an unsuspecting foe.

But the foe wasn’t unsuspecting.

Izumi had guessed correctly. Although the aesthetics of the skill differed, there was an uncanny resemblance between Yubilea’s sudden maneuver...and the shadowy technique of the daemons.

Izumi didn’t waste the opening. Instead of retreating, she lowered her posture, letting Yubilea’s fist brush past her face, put strength into her hips, and extended her right arm.

“Eh?” the Divine made a surprised sound as her swing missed.

“Gram,” Izumi spoke the incantation.

The woman’s knuckles connected with the spirit’s stomach, strengthened by the rune of power. In the next instant, Yubilea’s slim form was blown away, struck into the wall thirty feet away.

—“GAAAAAAAHHH!”

“Speed and mass equals power!” Izumi exclaimed. “Watch Bruce Lee, if you don’t believe me! With this—”

She turned back to face the two remaining Lords.

Neither Cinithlea nor Gwanlyn had moved.

Instead——the floor moved.

The ceiling moved.

The whole room around Izumi was suddenly in motion. New walls sprang from above and below, further dividing the already divided space, rapidly creating additional obstacles, one after the other. Izumi’s chances of reaching Yuliana were quickly reduced to nothing.

“Give me a break…!” she cried, sprinting towards the window on the left side wall.

Too late. Well before she could reach it, even that opening vanished, devoured by the animated stone. Izumi looked around, desperately trying to find another way to escape the trap, only to find that all the exits were gone. Without any natural light source available, she should have been left in a complete darkness—but that was not the case.

The angry flames covering Yubilea kept the room lit, as the spirit struggled up from the floor.

“You’re going to pay for that…!” she roared at Izumi. “Human!”

Even after taking such a heavy hit, the Divine appeared unharmed.

Naturally. The form of the Lord was “human” in appearance only.

Whoever the maiden sacrificed to Yubilea had been in life, that life had been consumed in full by the spirit, to produce her current incarnation. These vain spirits had not been content with simply possessing a vessel; what they wanted was to savor the pleasures of physical life in full.

The cost was severe, both for the Lord and the host: nothing of the previous humanity of the sacrifice remained. But in exchange for this intimate fusion, the boundaries of mortality were cast aside. So long as the spirit herself lived, her shell could not be easily shattered—in other words, the form of the spirit could only be destroyed by an attack that also destroyed the spirit itself. And very few were those who possessed such ability.

In effect, only another Lord could have a credible chance to kill a Lord.

Izumi’s struggle was hopeless from the start.

“It doesn’t get much worse than this, does it?” she mumbled.

As soon as she had said that…

Where the door of the room had once been, a loud explosion occurred. The marble wall was shattered by an impact of incredible force, pushed in, together with a large portion of the wall itself. Chunks of stone scattered all over the polished floor. Both Izumi and the Divine of flame were left momentarily stunned, staring at the freshly appeared cavity, through which a tall man walked in.

A man holding an enormous, circular shield.

“You…!” Yubilea gasped.

“Good evening,” that man, that hero, Bramms of the Grand Shield, stepped over the debris and greeted the two.

“Mind if I join in?”

Chapter 11: The Gambling Imperator Folds

1

It was hopeless. Yuliana looked in vain for a way to reach her friend. There were no openings or cracks in the suddenly appeared wall. Besides the locked door in the far back of the room, the only way out was through the windows, which opened up to a dive of at least one hundred and fifty feet, cold pavement below. The sun had set long ago, making way for the small, pale moons peeking through the scattered clouds. To summon Aiwesh, Yuliana would have to offer her own spirit for fuel—but there was no way his majesty would let her go through with the ritual.

Besides, even if she could somehow call the Divine spirit, there were three other Lords on the other side of the wall...There was no guarantee that the situation could be overturned. No, it being night time, Aiwesh’s Authority was sealed, bringing her at a massive disadvantage. In the worst case, even that noble spirit who had freed Yuliana from her castle would be slain.

It was hopeless.

Izumi was left to face opponents far beyond her caliber, all alone, while Yuliana could do nothing for her.

It was completely hopeless.

With no other choice, she turned to the Emperor.

“Tell them to stop!” she desperately pleaded. “Why are you doing this!?”

“You’ve stopped thinking, your highness,” the man answered with infuriating calmness. “I understand you’re panicking, but ‘why’ should be obvious at this point. Do I even need to spell it?”

Gesturing towards the table and the contract on it, he continued,

“If you pledge your allegiance by signing the gias, I will dismiss the Lords. Refuse, and your friend will perish. The situation is quite generic in its simplicity.”

Yuliana bit her lip.

Her political alignment—for the life of someone close to her.

The same choice she had faced two days ago.

By this point, there was no need to go over what it meant.

Yet, after these brief days, there had come a distinct difference in her mentality.

Yuliana loved her country and her people. She even loved the father who had showed little love for her in return. And yet—after coming this far, she had found other people whose deaths were just as unbearable for her.

Oathbound or not, Yuliana was only one woman. The future of these lands would not depend on her efforts alone. Whichever side she took should have mattered little in the grand scheme of things. What mattered more were the lives right in front of her now, asking to be saved. Were she to throw them away, she would also throw away what she represented.

There was something she could do, right now.

So why hesitate?

Yuliana strode to the table with quick steps and picked up the fountain pen next to the gias scroll.

But again, her hand stopped.

All of this...It keeps happening because of me. Because of me, people close to me are hunted and threatened...Is deciding which of my loved ones will die and how all I may choose? If I give in on this today, what will I have to surrender tomorrow? Where will it end? Will it ever end…?

She glanced at the Emperor.

At his lifeless, lightless eyes.

The eyes of a man, who has given up his morality, his ideals, his values, even his heart, for the sake of the mission. Would she end up with that same, resigned look on her face?

“No one needs to die,” he told her, weight behind his words.

“No,” Yuliana replied. Unsure of why. She hadn’t intended to say anything. But somewhere within her, her own heart was urging her to move. “I see now. Someone does need to die. Or it will never end.”

She suddenly threw away the pen and seized the table. It was short, only about waist-high, but with a stone cover that made it quite heavy. Still, exerting herself, the princess was able to pick up the table and ran at the window with it.

“Wait! What are you doing!?” the Emperor exclaimed, astonished.

Without stopping or slowing down, the princess cast the table through the window.

Countless shards of glass glittered in moonlight as they fell, with a gaping hole left in the Cathedral wall, through which chilling night wind blew.

Holding onto the window frame, Yuliana leaned her upper body outside and looked down.

Seen from above like this, the pavement looked to be gut-wrenchingly far away, the few pedestrians on the streets akin to insects. Over one hundred and fifty feet—a distance over which one could barely throw a spear. Certainly, if she were to fall from here, her end would not be beautiful. As if to give a foretaste of that fate, the table she had thrown hit the pavement and became pulverized with a loud bang.

“Have you gone mad!?” the Emperor shouted at her from behind. “Get away from there! You’ll die!”

Yuliana looked back and shook her head. She suddenly felt oddly sober and calm. Resolute.

“You will never threaten those I love again, because of me.”

All she had to do was let go. She looked at her pale hand, the slim fingers holding onto the wooden frame. That light contact was all that preserved her existence now. With one simple move, her earthly journey would come to an end.

Forgive me, my Lord. Forgive me, master. Forgive me...Izumi.

——“NO!”

The Emperor’s sudden shout interrupted her resolve.

The sovereign’s prior composure was gone. His face pale as a sheet, he stared at the princess in the clutches of helpless terror. Then, quickly turning around, he leaped a step and caught the gias scroll left lying on the floor. Swiping it up, he faced Yuliana again, as if to make sure she was watching, and quickly, without hesitation—tore the contract to tiny shreds.

“What…?” Astonished, Yuliana watched him destroy the all-important document, the tiny scraps of which he now hurriedly wiped from his hands, as if they were something filthy. She couldn’t understand. If she didn’t agree to play along with his plot, then wasn’t death what he had planned for her from the beginning?

“Why…?”

The Emperor gave her no answer.

Downcast he stood, unable to meet the princess’s eyes, like someone who has gambled everything, and then lost everything.

2

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Yubilea demanded an answer in an angry tone. “Did you honestly think I needed you to butt in? Know your place, mortal!”

Izumi glanced at the hero Bramms, whose large hands rested on the edge of his gigantic shield. The fight had suddenly become two-on-one, with the lone earthling versus a Divine spirit and a famous champion for a side course. While Izumi herself was armed only with the freshly learned, strange magic, and a paper knife.

However, the opposing front didn’t appear united.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t bear to follow this from the sidelines any longer,” Bramms responded with a dry cough. “Even though I count myself among his majesty’s loyal subjects, I find that the things that have transpired tonight violate heavily against my conscience.”

“The Hel are you blabbering about?” Yubilea lashed back at him. “Nobody asked for your opinion, you dumb mutt! Back off!”

“What a troublesome thing you are,” Bramms sighed, not intimidated even in the presence of a Lord. “What I’m saying is, in plain words, that I want you to dismantle this vile trap at once and leave here.”

—“Eh?”

—“What?”

Both Izumi and Yubilea looked stunned by the man’s words.

“I should be his majesty’s shield, first and foremost,” Bramms explained in a slightly offended tone. “The fact that he thought to rely on nonhuman powers instead only goes to show that his assessment of my abilities is that poor. I cannot stand by while my honor is being slighted. I and I alone should be this woman’s opponent tonight.”

“Just play your part, monkey boy, and stop complicating things!” the red spirit flared.

“Should you refuse,” Bramms ignored the Divine’s protests and continued, “then you leave me with no other choice but to take this woman’s side in the battle against you. I already surmised that it is only after I drive you foul demons away that I may have the duel that is rightfully mine.”

—“That is treason you speak of, human,” Lord Gwanlyn’s shape emerged through a nearby wall and said, apparently having heard the conversation.

But even the appearance of another grand spirit didn’t stop the hero.

“If his majesty betrays my honor by favoring blasphemous forces over his own servants, then, in my opinion, I am merely returning the favor by denying them.”

“Don't try to think, musclebrain!” Yubilea cried. “It doesn’t suit you!”

“All this changes is that you will die here together with the woman,” Gwanlyn told the man. “Reconsider.”

“I wonder about that,” Bramms retorted.

“What?”

“I am saying that I have some doubts regarding the certainty of death you offer me. Lord Cinithlea cannot fight effectively while Waramoti has her Authority. Not to mention her type is ill suited for combat. That makes our situation, in reality, two-on-two. Except, my Lord Gwanlyn, you cannot use your power directly against those of a race that are not subservient to your creator. There is no natural enmity between us that you could exploit. Were you to even try, the following penalty would surely mean your demise in your already weakened state. All you may do is indirect interference—while against my shield, your skills with shaping stone are quite meaningless. This only leaves Lord Yubilea as our opponent. And, as capable as she may be, with both myself and this lady as her opponents, I am confident we can hold her at bay for as long as is needed. Which, I am sure, would not be a terribly pleasant experience for her. So how shall it be? Of course, if you disagree with what I’ve said, then I don’t mind taking you on, all at once—by myself if necessary.”

“……..”

“…...”

“…Shit.” Yubilea suddenly swore.

It seemed Bramms was not very stupid, after all.

Frowning, Izumi looked at the eccentric characters around her. How was the situation going to develop from here? Whatever should happen, she couldn’t afford to waste time waiting for it, while the princess needed her help. As grateful as she was for the break, she didn’t intend to fight any one of them.

Finally, the pale spirit broke the stalemate.

“...We are retreating,” Gwanlyn muttered and turned to leave.

“Are you kidding me?” Yubilea shrieked. “The Emperor’s orders aside, I can’t let these apes get away with what they’ve done to me! After how much they’ve ridiculed me, I can’t rest until I tear them all to pieces!”

“Stop it,” Gwanlyn scolded the fiery Divine. “Our time is already past. Become any more involved in the mortals’ affairs and you won’t escape with your soul intact. And if you’re not there in the next world...I’d be troubled.”

“...”

With a scowl, Yubilea stopped arguing back. The bright flames veiling her slender limbs faded and she turned to follow after her kindred.

“Not like there’s a future for any of us,” she spitefully spat.

Giving Izumi one last bitter glare, the Divine Lord disappeared in a quick flash, her companion following shortly behind.

3

Slowly, Yuliana pulled herself away from the broken window. What was going on? The Emperor had gone to such lengths to arrange this elaborate setup, to force Yuliana to sign the gias, only to whimsically throw it all away. After human lives had been sacrificed for it! Why was he suddenly so concerned with the princess’s safety? What went through his mind? What was an act and what was his true self, she couldn’t even begin to tell them apart anymore.

The Emperor himself offered no answers.

As if the man had turned to stone, he stood amid the shreds of the contract, old and lost, and so he remained, until suddenly, the tall, blue-haired woman from before appeared standing next to him.

“Cinithlea…?” the Emperor stirred from his depression and looked at her.

“It appears that our bluff tonight has been called,” the grand spirit said with a soft smile, not looking particularly remorseful over the fact. “Come now, mortals. Securing you a path out of here shall be my last service to you.”

“Just leave me be,” the man replied. “It’s over. Does it matter how I face my end? Better sooner rather than later.”

“I believe it does matter,” Cinithlea answered him. “I may have lived for many eons, but is was only recently that I learned this valuable lesson. Nothing is infinite, not even cosmos itself. For all things, there exists a definite end. That idea, formerly strange to us, sent even us Divines to wallow in misery and disgrace. Why then live at all, if we are destined to lose all we hold dear one day, even the purpose for which we were born? Was the beauty of what we achieved sufficient to justify the days we existed? But, perhaps it is not such a sorry thing, after all? If there is no way to overturn fate, then surely it is in our final moments that our life’s true meaning will be made known. Not in the tallied sum of our actions, but in the manner of our passing. Perhaps what we thought of as the purpose of all was, in fact, only ever preparation for that single moment, where we may display the growth we went through on our journey? With what manner of heart do we embrace judgment as it is passed onto us—surely that last stand is what will define us all alike, were we mortal or divine.”

“...So the timing of that moment isn’t something we should choose for ourselves?”

“One should not choose demise as his purpose; it is the purpose he stands for and believes in that shall choose its time and method for him. After all, it is not for death that we live, so much as it may be the fact that live we did.”

“Memento vivere? Live your life for the sake of living it...is that it?”

“In your heart, do you feel you are already finished, human?”

The Emperor glanced at the princess.

“No...” he finally said. “My heart tells me that I have not done enough yet.”

“Then, we shall leave here together, to face our destination. You as well, Chalice of White.” The spirit extended her hand to Yuliana. “It is not with warm feelings that I aid the host of my nemesis, but such is the role I have taken upon myself. Come, child, and let us be off. For I know not how much longer I can guarantee your safety in this place.”

The princess hesitated.

“Izumi...What happened to Izumi?” she asked, trembling. “Did you kill her?”

Cinithlea answered with a slight shake of her head.

“Her life is in the hands of the Grand Shield now.”

4

The two spirits had vanished and silence returned. Only a few scattered flames were left here and there on the floor, to give light to the unnaturally isolated room, and prove that what happened was not only a dream. Izumi immediately turned to leave through the opening Bramms had created, to go look for Yuliana. Perhaps she could find a way around to the other side downstairs?

But she had barely taken a step, when a flash of metal beside her captured her attention.

The greatshield of Bramms suddenly bashed at her. That wide wall came for her with the velocity of a truck. Fortunately, the rune of acceleration remained active and Izumi saw it. Nimbly jumping up, she received the impact with her feet and was propelled more or less safely across the room in a wide arc.

“You...” Regaining her footing, she glared at the man responsible for the sneak attack.

Normally, it would be unthinkable that such a gargantuan tool could ever be employed in a “sneaky” fashion, but that was hardly the most absurd part of it.

By the contact, Izumi could tell—her earlier analysis of the object had been mistaken.

It wasn’t simple wood coated with a layer of metal; that shield was in its entirety shaped of a single, solid block of orichalcum, and nothing else. As such, it should have been impossibly heavy to hold. Yet, the man named Bramms handled his gigantic armament with the lightness of a mere buckler—and with only one arm.

Sure enough, either the weapon was not entirely what it seemed.

Or else, his frame itself was far beyond human limits.

The idea that he could have fought the Divines, even by himself, was not far-fetched at all. But in their absence, the would-be allies had gone back to being enemies.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Bramms told Izumi. “I never expected you to fall by an attack of this level, and rightfully so, I see. And you being in such a hurry to forget about me hurt my pride just a little. Consider us even now, after that no less treacherous attack by which you overwhelmed me the other day.”

“For a poster boy, you can sure hold a grudge,” Izumi replied. “No matter how you make it sound like fair play, I’d be flat as a pancake now, if I hadn’t doubted you from the get-go.”

“To speak of fair play, you never showed magical ability on our first encounter. Were you hiding the true extent of your skill at the time, or was that power something you only obtained afterwards? Does that mean there is an adept magician backing you at the capital? I took you for a stray sword at first, but were you an assassin of the Circle all along? If so, you did a marvelous job at deceiving us. Shivgried and Raleigh fell by your hand, didn’t they? The Marquess as well? The good will I showed you on our first meeting has come to cost human lives, and I’m not about to forgive you for that.”

“Your good will? You guard a dictator who plays with people like they’re bootleg muppets and will do anything from murder down to get his way. So how about you stop with the moral high ground act?”

Bramms shifted uncomfortably.

“...It is true that I have some misgivings about the state our nation is in...But mindless killing is not the answer to our problems. Can’t be. If we go down that path, we’d be no better than the evil we’re trying to defeat. It is by standing near the Throne that I can best help the common people. If I see his majesty do something I can’t agree with, then I will work to change his mind and come up with alternatives. That should be our way. So long as people live, they have the option to change, whether they be a layman or a tyrant. You take that away by killing them. That’s all there is to it.”

“What are you, Captain America!?” Izumi retorted. “Does that mean you’re not going to kill me?”

“You’re an outlaw with heavy, repeated charges against you,” Bramms answered, “but if you surrender quietly and promise to co-operate in unraveling the conspiracy against his majesty, I will ensure that no harm comes to you.”

“Let me think about that for a moment—no.”

Izumi actually did give it a thought, but reached the conclusion that there was no real choice before the sentence was complete. In response, the shield hero gave a heavy sigh.

“You know, you’re unexpectedly childish for your age...”

“What?” Izumi gasped. “DON’T BRING UP MY AGE! Oh my God! That’s it, I’m going to beat you up until you cry uncle!”

Brandishing her tiny dagger, Izumi readied herself for battle once more.

“That’s right,” Bramms said, gripping the corner of his shield. “To be honest, I hoped it would come to this. It took four days of work for the blacksmiths to weld my shield back together, after you cleaved it. For all this time, one thought has nagged me without rest. I need to know—which one of us would prevail in a fight with no holds barred?”

“So you were totally dreaming about killing me the whole time!? Some ‘hero’!”

Like that, the time for action had come once again.

It was not a fight she wanted, but since there was no way around it either, Izumi put her mind to it. Having witnessed the champion’s power and quick moves before, Izumi judged that seizing the initiative in this battle was vital. She would make use of her superior mobility and take down the enemy before he could turn it into a contest of endurance.

Quickly reaching this conclusion, Izumi determined to seize the first move.

Bending her knees, she lowered her posture and prepared to attack.

Such had been her intention.

But in there, her plans fell flat.

Before Izumi could move a finger, she was already under attack herself.

In one quick leap, as if gliding over the floor, Bramms crossed the distance between them and swung down his shield. Yes, the enormous orihalcum disc that should have taken three men to raise from the ground—he lifted it up and dragged it back down in an impossibly quick arc, as if it were a mere frisbee.

Izumi had to give up on the offensive and evade.

The greatshield fell past her and dug into the marble floor, like a bolt of lightning. The whole room shook under the weight of the strike, hinting of unspeakable forces. By all means, the metal circle should have been left pinned in the stone, impossible to be removed—but without a moment’s delay, Bramms tore it off and struck again with a wide sideways swing.

Izumi ducked, the deadly mass slicing over her head. She straightened herself to exploit the resulting opening, only to discover there was no opening. The man spun around his heels with the swiftness of a cyclone, and an identical horizontal swing followed immediately after the first. No, if possible, even faster and stronger.

“Kh...!” Izumi threw herself backward onto the floor to evade again. She rolled around to get some distance—but Bramms allowed her none. Turning around for the third time while stepping on, he changed the angle of the shield, now throwing a rising cut at the woman. Izumi twisted her upper body, the shield flying past her right shoulder and thigh. The mere air that the great weapon forced out of its way felt like a hammer as it brushed against her skin, tearing at her skirt.

What’s going on!? Is he Hercules or what!?

Izumi’s movements were continuously accelerated by Sifl, to thrice the normal speed, yet Bramms could not only keep up with her, he was definitely controlling the flow of the fight. The relentless avalanche of precise, murderous attacks forced her to keep evading and remain on the defensive, with no way to strike back.

The man’s strength and speed were clearly beyond those of an average person. The gap between what should have been possible for a human being and the reality of it was impossibly wide.

But how? Izumi couldn’t understand.

Was it some strange magic at work? Or was the strength of the humans of this world, if cultivated to the extreme, simply that much greater than that of the people of Earth?

That can’t be. If humans could truly get that strong, wouldn’t they rule the whole world by now? Instead, they’re considered the weakest of the races. Does that mean there’s again some trick to his strength...?

Izumi tried to analyze her opponent and uncover the source of his anomalous power, but, needless to even say, it was easier said than done in the heat of the moment

It was a fight very unlike those with Yubilea or Waramoti, who had the safety of invulnerability and so didn’t take their enemy very seriously. Neither did Bramms exhibit the playfulness of a predator toying with his victim. He simply gave his all in the fight for his life, holding nothing back. He bet on his strengths, covered for his weaknesses, and his vicious attacks showed no mercy. Like a true sportsman, he only played to win, and each of his moves carried the intent to kill.

If only Izumi had her sword, things might have been different…

“Gram.”

Using the rune of power to add strength to her legs, Izumi extended the length of her jump and pulled further back.

Bramms wasn’t about to give her the room to recover, but quickly chased after her. As soon as her feet reached the floor again, Izumi cast the dagger from her hand, aiming at his throat. Like a dart, the steel spike shot across the air, her magically enhanced strength behind it—but became deflected by the vast shield.

“Haaaa—!”

Letting our a roar, Bramms put more strength into his charge and placed the shield before him, in an apparent attempt to crush Izumi against Gwanlyn’s marble wall.

Izumi jumped up and backward, kicked off the wall to increase her altitude and vaulted over the charging enemy. With the momentum of a juggernaut, Bramms tore straight through two feet of stone.

Halting after his missed attack, unfazed, the warrior swiftly turned and cut back with the edge of the shield. His diagonal swing was aimed not at Izumi—but at the barrier of stone he had just pierced. The orichalcum shield ate into the marble with unsettling hunger, and the force of the strike carried on, cracking the wall all the way to the upper corner. Loosened in this uneven manner, a quarter of the wall broke off from the ceiling and started to tip inward.

Towards where Izumi was standing.

“Are you kidding me—!?”

The wall about to crash on her, Izumi dashed left to get out of the way. Her magically enhanced speed allowed her to reach the safe zone with a slight margin, but that hardly put her out of harm’s way. As it fell, the portion of the wall collided with the opposing side in the tightly divided room. The other wall failed to support the added weight but caved in as well, then crashing again onto the next behind it, splitting into smaller fragments, resulting in a domino effect of catastrophic forces.

The whole Cathedral shook under the piling tons of stone

As expected, the floor couldn’t endure the shifting of masses it was never designed to bear, but gave in next.

Accompanied by a loud bang, the central floor of the hall cracked and collapsed. Not in an orderly manner, bit by bit, but all at once, creating an immense cavity and pulling the other walls and parts of the ceiling along with it. Again, Izumi barely escaped death, jumping from the falling plate and catching hold onto the edge of the broken flooring on the windows' side.

As the masses of falling stone hit the floor below, another cataclysmic quake shook the building, nearly making Izumi’s hold slip. She looked down to see the floor plates and blocks of wall larger than cars hit the level roughly forty feet below, throwing up a gargantuan cloud of dust.

And, as the Cathedral kept shaking, the lighter marble plates on the windows started to crumble and fall off as well. There were soon chunks of stone, with shards of glass mixed in, raining down all around Izumi. She could only hope and pray that none would hit her while she hung suspended in mid-air.

“What’s up with that guy!?” she bemoaned, climbing up with frantic effort, after the worst had passed. “This is totally an overkill! Learn some restraint…!”

How to even begin to fight against such an absurd foe, now unarmed?

The arc’s runes were mainly enhancing in nature, and even if she knew any particularly destructive ones, it was doubtful that Bramms was going to sit obediently still and let her write them onto his body.

What else could she do? Throw rocks at him?

No, looking at the cataclysmic devastation he had caused, any thought of fighting back was ridiculous.

As the floor had collapsed, clearing most of the room, Izumi could see that there was no longer anyone on the other side. Both Yuliana and the Emperor were gone, together with the Divines.

In other words, continuing this absurd fight was altogether without meaning.

But simply leaving as well proved difficult.

Barely had Izumi gotten back up to her feet to catch her breath, when the remaining part of the wall near her was blown in. The wide, cruel-looking face engraved on the ancient shield emerged through the rubble, pressing at her with unyielding tenacity.

Izumi froze, her senses bombarding her brain with warning messages.

In addition to the charging warrior, there was the secondary threat posed by the countless shards of stone his violent strike had broken off of the wall and scattered. A lot of them were large enough to cause serious injuries on the soft human body, but even a smaller cut could prove dangerous to Izumi, whose natural healing faculties were stunted by the sap of the forbidden tree.

Gram alone couldn’t protect her.

Even with Sifl, she couldn’t evade such a wide area barrage, in an instant.

There was only one way——

As Izumi was busy weathering the initial hail of debris, Bramms closed in, held out his shield and blew the woman away with a brutal backhand bash. The strike definitely connected, he felt the impact against the shield, the weight of her body against it. In a blink of an eye, the assassin’s frail figure was struck away, thrown through the tall window and out of the building.

With that, the fight had to be over.

Regardless of her magically enhanced speed, so long as he could get one solid hit in, she wasn’t going to endure it. No human possibly could. Moreover, the fall awaiting outside was definitely fatal.

The conclusion was somewhat anti-climactic. Bramms felt no joy over this quick victory, on the contrary, but at least he had proved that his fighting strength was superior to that of the assassin beyond any reasonable doubt.

Doubt? Had there ever been any?

No human of the Empire could contest the hero’s might. Except maybe for that man, the man favored by the Divines. The Emperor had been foolish to ever assume otherwise...

“Hm?”

Approaching the broken window to check the corpse, the hero of the shield let out a sound of surprise.

He had concluded the battle too soon.

Outside the Cathedral building stood a row of bulky buttresses with airy arcs to support the main building. Their purpose was more aesthetic than practical, but it seemed the assassin had landed on one of those structures, and so avoided the deadly fall.

That fact alone shouldn’t have changed anything.

After taking a hit from the shield and being thrown onto the stone-made buttress, any ordinary human should have been no less lifeless than had she dropped from the rooftop.

And yet—the enemy was not only alive, but standing.

Standing, unharmed, and conscious.

What’s more, her appearance had radically changed.

The woman’s formerly pale skin looked nearly black in the moonlight, her light brown hair as well fluttering pale ashen gray in the cool night breeze.

“So you were only ever a monster wearing the guise of a maid?” Bramms grimly remarked. “There’s no end to your tricks, is there? It seems I made a mistake to treat you the same as myself—daemon!”

“I’m nothing of the sort, and you should definitely love yourself more,” Izumi replied. “But, speaking of tricks, if you want to be fair and square with me, then how about you tell me where that ridiculous power comes from? The last I checked, people couldn’t smash through solid walls without turning green first. And you would still call yourself human?”

“There is no trickery in what is plain enough to see,” Bramms said, leaning on his shield.

“Cut the crap, Bruce.” Izumi frowned. “It’s some kind of a magic item, isn’t it? The shield. My theory is that the one holding it feels none of its weight, while it still works as it should for everyone else. That’s the only plausible way to explain why you’d be able to lift such a stupidly heavy thing, and why it still hits so darn hard. Was I right?”

“You’re close,” the man replied. “But it’s actually the opposite of that.”

“The opposite?”

“The shield doesn’t make itself easier for the owner to wield. It makes its owner able to wield it. That’s all.”

“Ehh…?”

Had Izumi’s form not been hardened by Tauhirn, she would have no doubt felt a chill go down her spine.

Not a spell to change the equipment’s physical characteristics for the wielder’s convenience—but magic to elevate man into godhood, simply so that he may hold it.

What an absurd story.

And yet, she had seen more than enough proof of it.

That ancient relic had bestowed Bramms the physical abilities that completely disregarded his natural boundaries as a human being. And the subsequent years of field experience had shaped his proficiency with the surreal shield to the utmost limit.

In here, the union between a man and an object had evolved to the level well worth being described as “mastery”.

In that case, the countermeasure was simple—break the man’s contact with the shield to negate its effect. After that, Bramms of the Grand Shield would be nothing more than a man once again.

But…

By what Izumi had seen up until now, it was clear that making Bramms let go of his trump card was anything but an easy task.

“I don’t know who you really are, but the Empire doesn’t need dangerous elements like you,” he said.

Bending his knees, the man jumped. Pulled by the shield’s mass and momentum, he extended his leap and, using the armament to cover his fall, dropped on the buttress where Izumi presently stood.

Watching the human cannonball descend, with no way to stop or counter it, Izumi had no choice but to get out of the way. With both Sifl and Gram active, she could make the jump to the next buttress, with a gap of roughly sixteen feet in between. Barely. Her abilities were both improved by the runes as well as hindered by them. With no time to practice and get a good feel of their appended effects, estimating exactly how much strength she had to put into each move was guesswork. Additionally, Tauhirn had increased her mass more than she had thought, and her leap nearly ended up too short. If her reinforced fingers hadn’t sank a bit into the stone arc, she wouldn’t have been able to hold on.

“Crap, this could be bad…!”

On the other hand, the scale and geometry of the battleground didn’t appear to bother Bramms. Crashing into the stone-made pillar as if it were made of sugar, his shield pulverized it, knocking off the pinnacle completely. Regaining his bearings, he gathered strength and jumped again—or more like, threw his shield and let it drag him across the air—in pursuit of the woman.

In a hurry, Izumi lifted herself up and rolled out of the way, right as the magic shield sank into the arc of the buttress, where she had been. Agile like a trapeze artist, Bramms flung himself high in the air with one arm, cartwheeling over the edge of the shield. Landing firmly back on his feet, he casually tore the disc off the stone and chased after retreating Izumi.

She wasn’t going to get away.

Therefore, she could only turn around and meet the attack head on.

Her body protected by Iron Hide, Izumi’s fighting chances were slightly improved. Slightly. Ducking to avoid the first horizontal blow, she diverted the following straight hit with her arm. Carefully, with an angle as shallow as possible. If the kinetic force could carry through the Iron Hide, the way it had with Waramoti and his Divine protection, her arm bones underneath would break all the same.

However, Gram complemented Tauhirn to an impeccable degree, reinforcing her muscles under the steely layer. Although just brushing past the shield nearly threw her off-balance, her limb withstood the contact without pain or injury.

Taking a sliding step forward, Izumi was right in front of the warrior.

By basic physics, the closer she could get, the harder it would become for Bramms to fight back with the inconveniently huge weapon. In theory. Again, Izumi discovered her imagination had been unreasonably optimistic. Bramms drew the shield back into his hands, gripping the rim. Izumi discovered she had been left trapped between his arms, body, and the shield. He quickly pulled the shield towards his chest, to crush her neck.

Lowering her posture deep, Izumi evaded the metal edge and punched at Bramms’s gut. With her magical reinforcements, her fists were no doubt as dangerous as any metal weapons—but Bramms remained alert. Interrupting his previous move, he slammed down with the flat side of the shield, flattening Izumi against the arc, before she could put her full weight into the punch.

This is bad!

Had she been without the protection of magic, her shoulder bones would have broken. But although she had been downed, Izumi felt no such pain. Her limbs were intact, she was conscious, and able to move. Either Bramms had not been able to put enough strength into the quick counter, or else Tauhirn’s protection was better than she had dared to hope.

Either way, neither combatant was finished yet.

Bramms lifted his shield up, flipping it around in his hands like a coin, to drop down the rim on the grounded enemy. Simultaneously, Izumi rolled on her back and kicked up against the edge of the shield with both feet, knocking the man back before he could bring the weapon down. She bounced back up to chase after him, but was foiled once more. Skillfully absorbing the force, Bramms retreated a step and turned like a dancer, letting the massive disc go around him. Instead of aiming at Izumi, he struck down sideways, at the stone arc they stood on.

“Wah!”

The central blocks were broken away by the blow, right before Izumi’s feet. The part she stood on became loosened as well, and she stumbled back as it disappeared from under her. It seemed the rest of the arc was going to follow the same way. Their footing turned too precarious, both combatants escaped at the same time, jumping onto the next arc.

As the heavier one, Bramms was there first, immediately sprinting along the narrow ridge towards the spot where Izumi would land. Cursing air resistance, Izumi gave up on trying to fight back, and continued by leaping immediately for the next arc, right before her position was again destroyed by the enchanted orichalcum shield.

Izumi was starting to get the hang of controlling her jump distance, so repeating the motions felt natural and she kept going. Like this, the two ended up crossing all the way to the corner of the Cathedral building along the giant ladders, leaving a path of destruction in their wake.

What does it take to stop this guy?

Izumi was running out of ideas.

All she could do was keep evading the enemy, and it didn’t take a combat expert to tell that the fight would be lost if things remained this way.

Nevertheless, no openings presented themselves.

In a complex terrain such as this, Izumi should have had the advantage with her higher agility—and yet, the truth of the matter was the exact opposite. Bramms appeared to be right at home here in the heights, where Izumi struggled just to keep her balance. His attacks rained on her like an endless chain, giving her no room to even breathe, let alone turn the tables.

If only I had my sword—Izumi thought for the thousandth time. Although, she knew just as well that it was pointless to complain about things nothing could be done about.

I can’t win this. I have to get down somehow and try to outrun him.

Resolving to make her escape, Izumi started to look for a path down to the ground level. Perhaps she could climb along one of the buttress pillars, grabbing straight onto the stone, the way she had done before...With such reckless thoughts, she reached the corner of the edifice and leaped for the last arc, Bramms close in pursuit.

But, unfortunately for Izumi, while she made her plans, her opponent did the same.

Izumi thought she had managed to pull a safe lead on her rival, but in reality, Bramms had given her distance on purpose.

By the time she realized why, it was already too late.

Bramms threw the greatshield.

Estimating the point where she would drop, he jumped—and flung the disc in mid-air, sending it spinning after her. Never would she have thought he would deliberately let go of the weapon his survival depended on and risk losing it, but he did.

The warrior's superhuman strength behind it, the shield passed the woman in a flash, and dug deep into the narrow stone bridge, right where she was going to land. Her footing blocked like this, Izumi made a difficult fall, clumsily tripping around the corner of the shield, proceeding to bounce over the arc behind it.

Barely reaching the edge of the arc as she fell, the woman was left hanging one hundred and fifty feet above street level, holding on by only four fingers that preserved the very minimum of supporting contact. She didn't dare to move, the slightest shifting of weight could have made her fall. Iron Hide had proved an impeccable protection—but like a gauntlet, it also removed the natural moisture and flexibility of the skin, which could have helped secure a better hold.

But if she canceled the rune now—it would only take a light step on her fingers to send her plummeting to her death.

At last, Izumi had been cornered.

Bramms landed nearby. Seizing the shield, he pulled it off the stone and stood above the woman, indomitable and handsome like a Greek sculpture. The fierce fight defying the laws of physics and common sense hadn’t even brought one bead of sweat to his brow.

“This is as far as you go then?” he said to her. “Out of respect for your efforts, I can deliver your last words to a person of your choosing, if you so want.”

“I suppose surrender and co-operation aren’t an option anymore?” Izumi asked.

“No. As said, you have proved too dangerous to be kept alive. The fight could’ve gone either way. Fortunately, it seems you aren’t yet accustomed to your magic. It would be stupid of me to give you a second chance. Which is why...this is goodbye.”

Bramms lifted his shield once more, to send Izumi to certain death.

In her eyes, that shield was no different from the hammer of God. A flyswatter.

There was no way out.

No conceivable way to stop that blow.

No escape.

She could barely hold onto the edge. If she tried to climb up, she was liable to only slip. Not that there was such time either. She would get the greatshield in her face in the effort and drop like a rock.

Her luck had finally ran out.

A month in another world—what a pitifully short time, even if a lot had happened.

As hostile as this world was.

As hopeless as this world was.

As bleak and dangerous as this world was.

She would’ve liked to see more of it——

“…?”

Bramms felt something cold and tight around his ankle.

Defying death by accident, Izumi had let go of her hold to reach up, and grabbed his leg instead.

Of course, there was not much meaning in the effort. All she had succeeded in was shift the spot she was hanging on. Even with her runes, she didn’t have enough strength to harm him simply by squeezing his ankle, for as long as he was in contact with the shield. Neither did it stop him from striking her down. She had to have understood as much.

That blind, desperate struggle to survive only looked pathetic to him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked in disgust. “You’ve lost! Accept it. Face your end with some dignity and grace. What would your ancestors think, were they to see you now?”

“...Don’t screw with me.”

“What?”

“Like hell I’ve lost!” Izumi shouted. “So what if it’s not graceful? I don’t care who’s looking! Don’t my ancestors have anything better to do!? I’ll drag myself through mud if I have to, I’m plenty dirty already! I’ve humiliated myself so many times by now I have no pride or dignity left. And I’m not dead yet! I’m not giving up——Not while I have even one person out there who needs me!”

Her hold tightened.

Bramms frowned. It was difficult to estimate exactly how durable the woman’s hardened form was. If the hit wasn’t strong enough to knock her out, it might not break her hold either. No, there was a chance that he could lose his balance and get pulled down along with her. But if he moved away, he would only help her back up.

The situation had become troublesome.

“Have you gone mad!?” the warrior shouted at Izumi in anger. “What good would it do for us both to die!? It won’t change your fate! No one will reward you for mutual defeat! Neither of us will be left to celebrate victory! Instead of one death, there’ll be two. What consolation will that bring you, once you are gone?”

“Well, I won’t feel as lonely on the way, I guess.”

Pulling her knees up, Izumi kicked off the stone arc, hanging tightly onto Bramms’s ankle, and dragged him over the edge with her. The large shield in his hands, he failed to get a hold of anything to save himself.

In the next moment, both combatants were left in the mercy of gravity, the cold, harsh pavement below approaching at a staggering velocity. The air resistance tore at them, still powerless to halt their descent. The sense of weightlessness and all it represented was nauseating.

True enough, Izumi’s stunt hadn’t improved her situation one bit.

Not even the runes could protect her from such a fall

Rather, in the worst case scenario, they would keep her alive, but her body horribly mangled, at the mercy of the Imperials. It was not the kind of an ending she had wanted, but now that it was fast on the way, she realized she felt no fear. In fact, her mind was left completely blank, dazed.

What should she do, what should she try, she couldn’t come up with anything. She couldn't think at all.

It simply couldn’t be helped.

However, her opponent was different.

“I’m not joining you in death!” Bramms grunted, turning his shield behind his back and taking cover behind it. Besides improving its holder’s physical abilities, the greatshield also excelled in its original purpose—absorbing impacts. He wouldn’t escape unscathed, but, with luck, he would survive. And time would heal broken bones. As a hero, he had the best care in the Empire to look forward to.

Izumi watched him fall, like a chick taking cover in the broken shell of its egg.

“There’s some idea to that,” she noted.

Sticking her arms along her body to speed up her fall, the way she had seen skydivers do on TV, Izumi caught up with Bramms and grabbed him.

“What do you think you’re doing? Unhand me!” he yelled at her.

“Two pillows are better than one.”

“Ha—!?”

Recalling the invaluable ways of breaking a fall, taught in the many martial arts courses out there, Izumi pulled her arms and legs together, her chin tightly against her chest, with both the greatshield and the muscular body of the warrior under her. Moreover, the runes remained active.

But in the process, Bramms was left between Izumi’s reinforced body and the orihalcum shield, like a tomato between a hammer and an anvil.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA——!”

BOOM. The touchdown was less extravagant than one might imagine. No large craters or showy explosions. It was only about as impressionable as dropping a heavy, hard object on the pavement could be, regardless of height.

As expected, the shield withstood the impact impeccably, the meager mass on it unable to leave even a dent on its beautiful form. After all, the mineral called orichalcum was second only to a certain blade in durability.

The same couldn’t be said about its owner.

Despite the chestplate on him, Izumi felt the man’s body give in under her, in a way that couldn’t be called healthy. The light armor was crushed, and his rib cage and lungs had to have received critical damage. An obscene burst of blood was instantaneously discharged from his nose and mouth, making it evident that parts vital to human life and functionality had been obliterated.

Izumi momentarily blacked out because of the impact, unconsciously dispelling her runes’ effects. Shaking her head, she soon stirred and examined herself, but, disregarding the fatigue from the battle and a few bruises, found herself otherwise intact.

The warrior under her laid crushed and still, the red mist of his expelled blood raining down on the two.

“Was I that heavy? Sorry if it hurt, but better you than me—wah!”

Suddenly, large hands seized Izumi's neck.

Bramms abruptly revived and opened his eyes. His red-dyed face horribly distorted by wrath and agony, he exerted the last of his strength to take revenge on his enemy. How dreadful was the vitality lurking in that body, to keep him alive even after enduring such horrible damage? His grotesque tenacity left Izumi at a loss, gasping for air. Even near death, his fingers had enough power to snap her neck, and that pressure was rapidly increasing.

A chilling roar of rage erupted from the ruined hero’s throat, thick blood pouring through his teeth, as he put his everything into crushing his final foe.

“RRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH—!!!”

The runes were inactive.

With not even enough air left to whisper, Izumi was powerless to defend herself.

She had managed to cheat death this far, against all odds—only to have her life squeezed out of her by those vengeful hands. Her neckbones were creaking, starry mist clouding her vision.

“Gh...ha...hn…!”

What are you doing, me…!?

Adrenaline surging through Izumi, the approach of death forced her clouded mind to work again. The survival instincts laying dormant in each and every one surfaced for one last attempt to defy the end, forcefully restoring her mental faculties.

Why had she resigned already?

He wasn’t holding his shield anymore.

At the moment, they were both only human.

Only a man and a woman.

With a clear, wide gap in strength, yes. But it was to overcome such differences that various techniques of self-defense had been invented.

“...Hn…!”

Izumi moved her hands and sought the thumbs digging into her jugular. Forcing her own fingers under those clumsy, root-like stumps, she twisted them outward and down, slowly forcing his hold apart. No matter who it is, ten fingers will be stronger than two. After the first half an inch, she had opened her windpipe enough to get air in her lungs again. And with oxygen, her strength was rapidly restored.

Applying more power, Izumi forced Bramms’s large hands further open, and as soon as the gap was wide enough for her neck, she slipped away from his hold.

Freed, the woman leaped back up to her feet like frenzied cat.

Overtaken by a primal blend of rage and terror, she grabbed the rim of the greatshield, and yanked it from under the man, as if it were a mere rag. Briefly lifting the vast disc above her head, she tore it back down, slamming it edge down on the warrior's throat. The shield dived a third of its width into the pavement, decapitating the poor champion, ending his suffering in an instant.

“Haa...haaa...haa...”

For a moment, Izumi stood over the body of her opponent, heaving her shoulders, coughing, trying to catch her ragged breath.

It was finally over.

Somehow, she had survived once more.

Izumi looked around, disoriented, trying to recall where she was and what she was supposed to do next. Even this late at night, there were citizens walking around. Those closest to the scene of murder shrieked in terror and fled at once as they saw her.

“AAAA! A DAEMON! A MONSTER—!”

Izumi touched her face, wet with the blood of her mauled foe. She looked behind and up, seeing the badly damaged exterior of the ancient Cathedral.

More loud yelling turned her head the other way again.

Along the street, guards were fast approaching, alerted by the screams and the noise of combat. Knights on horseback among them.

“Seriously, give me a break, guys…!”

Of course, they would give her nothing of the sort. With no more time to gather her strength and thoughts, Izumi dashed the other way, towards the dark waves of the river Thuleios, far beyond which Selenoreion slumbered.

5

The Emperor’s carriage reached the palace gates. The man climbed out without a word, Yuliana following after him. They hadn’t spoken a word the whole way back from the Cathedral. Her hands trembled. She felt sick. What was going on? What had happened to Izumi? Why had the Divines appeared at the Cathedral? So many questions and so little answers. Everything was so weird.

Before the open palace gates, a squad of Imperial guards awaited them. In the middle of the yard, between the soldiers’ ranks, stood a tall elven woman in a black dress. Yuliana faintly recalled having seen her sometime before. That’s right, on the night of their arrival, that woman had stood by the throne.

“Any news?” The Emperor half-heartedly asked the elf.

“Soldiers are in pursuit as we speak,” she responded. “But it seems the target has fled into the river to elude them. Guards are sweeping the shores, but it will take time to arrange for boats and hounds. Searching the river in the dark will be difficult. It is unlikely the trail can be picked up before morning.”

“I see. What of Bramms?”

The woman shook her head.

“Deceased. Nothing could be done.”

The Emperor closed his eyes with a pained, powerless face.

“...So all according to plan then?”

“Not quite,” the unknown woman replied. “But to a sufficient degree, I suppose.”

“Then this is it for me,” the man said.

“I believe it is too soon to declare so.”

“Come on. I know well what awaits me. No need to sugarcoat things now.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuliana interjected, stepping forward. “Could someone please tell me what is going on in this city? Because I’ve about had enough of being treated like someone’s toy in a pretentious game.”

The Emperor gave her a horribly tired, blank look, as if not even recognizing her.

“Ah, it'll be all right, your highness,” he told her after a pause, as if comforting a child. “Don't be afraid. Carmelia will show you back to your quarters. You’ll be safe there. I shall see you another time...if fate so allows.”

His voice was disconcertingly monotonous and without spirit. Not saying anything else, the Emperor went on through the gates, escorted by his knights. What a shame, Yuliana thought. Amid all those valiant protectors, he looked more like a prisoner than any real prisoner the princess had ever known.

Meanwhile, the elven woman turned to the princess with a friendly smile that only had a hint of sadness to it.

“Your highness, pardon my late introduction,” she said. “I am Carmelia, one of the Court Wizards of the Empire. I understand the events of tonight have been shocking to you, but I assure that all will be made clear in due time. Not now, for I fear that openly stating certain facts could give you a misleading impression of the situation. I will have to ask that you bear with the ignorance for a while longer, until certain matters are resolved. There is no reason to be alarmed. I am confident that no danger is presently directed your way.”

“I see,” the princess said with slight reservation. “I am honored to have finally met you, Lady Carmelia. I have heard good things about you from our mutual friend, my master Marafel. Because of her words, I shall trust in yours, even when my reason and experiences compel me to doubt them.”

“My, I am fortunate to be rated so highly,” the sorceress smiled. “Wherever the good Colonel goes, my blessings shall go with her.”

“Thank you,” Yuliana replied. “But I know master well enough to tell she’ll be all right, blessed or not. On the other hand, I know certain other people who can’t seem to ever stay out of trouble, no matter how you tell them to be wiser.”

“How amusing. I have recently come to know some such people myself. It appears to be a common characteristic among you humans. Then again, you also seem to carry most uncanny amounts of good luck with you. Therefore, you should have faith in your friends and go in peace from here.”

“...If I am to understand you correctly, then so I shall,” Yuliana nodded. “Thank you. Meeting your grace has been a pleasure.”

“I should say likewise,” Carmelia bowed her head. “And I will look forward to our next meeting. Which will not be far off, if I am not mistaken.”

Feeling slightly easier, Yuliana let herself be escorted away, back into her lonely tower. Her future looked almost unbearably uncertain, but after meeting the Court Wizard, she found that she could still bring herself to have a bit of hope. Believe that things would turn for the better, eventually.

But in that hope, she was slightly mistaken.

Chapter 12: The Lord of Light Strikes Back

1

A change came early in the morning, as the first rays of the rising sun crawled over the western horizon, sweeping across the expansive meadows of Bareilion. They bathed the rooftops of the tall manors and humble shacks alike, granaries and temples, brothels and citadels, before coming to rest on the uncontested bulwarks of Selenoreion, up on the hill of Meuvelie. In stoic silence stood the tall towers of the Imperial Palace before the new dawn, reflecting the first light without shame, like pillars tasked to uphold the heavens themselves.

As that pallid sunlight shifted in through the windows of her quarters high up on one of said towers, princess Yuliana Da Via Brannan was woken up by a voice speaking within her mind. A voice she hadn’t heard in a long while, but which nevertheless was unmistakable in its clarity.

“Rise, my beloved vessel,” the voice told her with warm pride. “A new day dawns radiant and beautiful, and your spirit, tempered through many a hardship, has grown a bold match to it. Verily, you have become a chalice most suited to house my lofty might. Rise now, my child, and call my hallowed name once more. For the time has come for us to go to war.”

2

Izumi was tired. Almost as tired as on the first morning of her recent internship. Fortunately, the first morning had also been the last of that sort. Since arriving in the world of Ortho, she had often had to wake up even earlier and work even harder, but it didn’t matter here. There was quite literally a world of difference. She was living her dream now, early wake-ups were a cheap price to pay for it.

That morning, though, Izumi had planned to sleep her fill, but against her firm intentions, she was woken up in the middle of the sweetest, deepest dream.

Not by an alarm clock, or a servant, but by a sudden quake, which shook the entire capital, including the Imperial Palace and her small, secluded room therein. It was as if that great city were merely a big table, upon which a displeased God had slammed his palm with a bang. It gave Izumi a start. Tensing all around, she remained lying under the covers, feeling the aftershock gently rock her bed. She could hear glasses tinkling somewhere in another room. The shelves made noise, knocking against the walls. Somewhere in the library, a big pile of books fell over.

"——?"

While light earthquakes were a fairly frequent occurrence in Izumi’s land of origin, this was her first time experiencing one in the other world. It was far more unsettling than any other she had been through, albeit also much briefer.

The trembling soon ended, so soon that she had to doubt if it even qualified as a genuine earthquake. Had she only dreamed it? Everything was soon back to normal again. Listening quietly for a moment, laying on her back in the bed, Izumi’s curiosity eventually got the better of her. Going back to sleep after such a surprise was impossible, so she lifted herself up with effort and looked at the window.

Instead of the window, the first thing her eyes met was the Court Wizard.

Carmelia sat on the window sill, gazing outside. Her profile, still and quiet like that, was like one from a painting. Were it a real painting, it would have surely been hailed as a masterpiece.

“Morning,” Izumi greeted the sorceress, rubbing the corner of her eye. “What’s up?”

Without looking at her, Carmelia answered,

“The great temple has fallen. The Three are no more.”

“Huh?”

“Together with the Lords, the Empire of old has come to an end,” the cirelo continued. “You humans are no longer guided and protected by the blessings of your elders, but have become orphaned on the doorstep of an unknown, strange age.”

“…...”

Izumi scratched her head, unsure of what any of it meant.

“Rest well,” the sorceress told her without further explanations and stood. “Your body is still exhausted, for straining yourself and overusing the runes, but you should recover, given time. Rest this day. I wish I could afford you a greater respite, but our last trial is soon upon us. The Grand Shield is dead, and with the Three gone, our greatest obstacle has ceased to be one. This means—tonight, the Emperor of men must fall. Tonight, it will be decided whether our last days in this world will be those of hope and courage. Or those of despair and decay.”

Having said all this, Carmelia walked quietly out of the room.

“Come to the library at noon and we shall discuss our plan of action then.”

After the sorceress had left, Izumi fell limply back on the bed and sighed.

“Yeah. I’m gonna want some coffee.”

3

Closer to noon, as stiff as her limbs still felt, Izumi dragged herself obediently up from the bed, had a late breakfast that would have been better labeled as lunch, and joined her conspiring companions in the library hall. For one last time.

The three figures seeking to steer the course of the Empire stood gathered around the lengthy table once again, and for a good while after the initial greetings, none of them could bring themselves to speak.

Finally, Benjamin Watts, the young man magically transported to Ortho, spoke,

“Well...uh, damn. Where to even begin?” he stammered. “Things have escalated, to say the least. So much happened in such a short time, my head is still spinning. Did anybody read the news today? The headlines sure were something. Early this morning, the dome of the Great Temple collapsed in a sudden earthquake. The historical documents make that the first in the capital for over four centuries. There were no services on at the time, so the casualties were fortunately few, but...you have to wonder about the timing. More importantly, statements from the temple’s priests support Carmelia’s claim that the three Lords we’ve come to know and love have all disappeared without a trace. Like, they just up and vanished. They didn’t decide on a sudden vacation, did they? Early retirement? I wonder if there’s any correlation between their disappearance today and our highly unexpected encounter with them last night? Any causality to be observed? I don’t know.”

Waving his hands in a helpless gesture, Benjamin looked at the sorceress for a comment. However, Carmelia offered no direct answers.

“The Three’s blessings have been withdrawn from the Empire’s territory,” the sorceress said. “Tratovia is now a spiritual no man’s land. This could only be possible through the simultaneous demise of all three Lords. Without hard evidence to show for it, anything beyond this simple observation of reality would only be baseless conjecture. I do not know what has become of the Divines and any hypotheses I can come up with offer very little substance to our plans for tonight.”

“Er, right,” the young man nodded with obvious reluctance. “If the Empire’s chief occult advisor says so, then I suppose we’re just going to have to set this highly suspicious matter aside for now, and move on to business. And some business that is.”

“Hm,” Izumi made a sound. She had a vague feeling the matter with the Divines wasn’t entirely unrelated to her, but she didn’t feel energetic enough to pursue the topic any deeper either.

It didn't change what they had to do.

Benjamin shortly resumed,

“Maybe it’s best to start with a debriefing first? Our mission last night—well, it wasn’t exactly a success story. The Emperor, our primary target, is still very much alive and kicking. Meanwhile, Marquess De la Cartá, quite dead. You did well to smash the vile trap they’d set up, but—speaking of smashing things, you kind of left your mark on the Cathedral building as well. It’s estimated that the repair expenses will reach up to eighteen million silver strata. Whoever handles De la Cartá’s estate matters isn’t going to be very happy. But, you did get Bramms and eluded capture, so props for that. Should we call it fifty-fifty in terms of success? Forty-sixty? Twenty-eighty? Is the glass half full or half empty? Either way, in one neat maneuver, we’ve sent the elite of the capital into a downright frenzy. And it’s spreading, fast.”

“It wasn’t all my fault...” Izumi protested.

“Due to the past week’s events,” Carmelia continued, “culminating in these high profile deaths and the collapse of the temple, his majesty has declared martial law. A curfew has been imposed on Selenoreion, starting at dusk, banning all traffic in the streets. The Imperial Guard will be carrying out extensive patrols everywhere in the district. The Palace grounds are already under a strict lockdown, with all the gates and passages sealed, and heavily guarded.”

“No one goes in, nothing comes out,” Benjamin summed up. “The Imperial Guard is in the highest state of alert, all holidays canceled, special permits voided, state visits postponed, calendars cleared, and so forth. This is the first time in a very, very long while since anyone’s depended on the Guard, so they’re taking the situation with the necessary seriousness. Fortunately for us, the army’s still anticipating an attack from outside. They don’t know that their chief enemy is already within the palace.”

“How convenient for us,” Izumi commented with some irony.

“Not for long,” Carmelia told her. “Emergency summons have been dispatched to all the remaining heroes of the Guild. They will hasten their return, meaning that our time is quickly running out. Once here, the champions will tear the city apart, piece by piece, if that is what it takes to find us.”

Izumi grimaced.

“...After yesterday, I’m really not looking forward to meeting any more of those guys.”

“No fear,” Benjamin said, rolling out a map of the palace. “We’re not finished just yet. With the Three gone, we are actually able to return to our original ‘Plan A’ now! That’s right, whether they're dead or alive, the Divines’ blessings are down, Waramoti is depowered, and Bramms is toast. Which means, our chief obstacles are no more. We are free to pursue our primary goal with greatly heightened ease.”

“We must act tonight—and not leave the job unfinished,” Carmelia said to Izumi. “By this point, I shouldn’t need to remind you of the consequences of failure.”

“I get it, I get it,” Izumi said.

“Well, after everything so far, this mission will probably be the easiest of them all,” the young man went on to explain, pointing at the map. “Have a look here. There’s a route that takes you directly from Carmelia’s keep to the main building, avoiding most of the guard patrols and gates. We have the keys. You’ll enter through the Azure Hall and it’s a straight path to the Throne Room from there. His majesty has been holed up in there since daybreak, as if anticipating some kind of divine punishment. Guess you freaked him out real good? Avoid unnecessary combat the best you can, but if anyone gets in your way...we can’t afford to pull our punches now, can we? The future of the world is at stake. And our dear lives. My apologies to all the knights’ families.”

“I know that,” Izumi sourly mumbled.

“To be frank, there shouldn’t be that many guards inside the palace, seeing as they’re mostly patrolling the streets and manning the walls. Which leaves us with but one little, tiny, famous, legendary-level problem to face...”

“Heaven’s Hand,” Carmelia picked up. “The last remaining hero of the Guild has been assigned directly in charge of the Throne Room’s protection. He will guard it with his life. After the fall of the Three, he has presumably lost the blessings, but do not underestimate the man. Even if reduced to a mere mortal, he is still a warrior of outstanding skill.”

“A cornered lion bites the hardest, or however did it go again?” Benjamin reminded.

“I know that too,” Izumi breathed an apathetic sigh.

“You must eliminate Waramoti before you engage the Emperor,” Carmelia advised her. “Use whatever means available to you, and take down the threats one by one. Do not risk a scenario where you end up facing the two of them at the same time.”

“I know, I know.”

“After that, the Throne Room,” Benjamin pointed at the room at the heart of the building complex on the map. “Just you and the big guy. The ruler of the greatest nation in the continent he may be, but deprived of his servants, he’s still only a man. Not a hero or a trained knight. There may be some bodyguards in the Throne Room with him, but after all the obstacles you’ve overcome until this point, I wouldn’t even mention them. As usual, cut down anyone on your path, and then, his majesty. After he’s down, return here by the same way you took in. Without pursuers, preferably. Your job will then be done. We’ll have a transport ready to deliver you safely out of the capital. Leave the rest to the Circle. Carmelia will see to your reward—which I’m sure will be something—after which you’re free to go.”

A deafening silence followed all the talking.

This was it.

The end of this long week’s efforts was finally in sight.

Just one last push, and it would be over.

With the Emperor’s death, the greatest threat to the peace in Noertia would be removed. There would be no war with Langoria. Yuliana would be safe. Humans and elves would be able to further improve their co-operation, and form a united front against the threat of the daemons. And Izumi herself would be free to pursue life as a hero of the sword, probably without having to worry about money ever again in her life.

Ideally. It was probably naive to imagine that things would go that smoothly, even in the event of success.

But it would be a start.

Still, as she thought about all this, Izumi felt rather empty inside.

Not the least bit excited, hopeful, or accomplished.

Would it really be so simple? How would life look for her, starting tomorrow?

Either way, she had no choice.

Izumi glanced at the elven sorceress beside her. She owed her life to Carmelia, and that debt had only been multiplied over the course of the week. Without the Red Serum, Izumi would have succumbed to the daemon plague. Without the runes, Bramms would have killed her. Without the sorceress’s timely rescue three days ago, Miragrave as well would have died.

Whatever the cirelo would ask of her, she would do without question.

Even if it meant throwing herself into fire. That was the only path left for Izumi.

Therefore, casting her misgivings aside, she only gave a firm nod.

“I’ve got this.”

“Ah, yes!” Benjamin suddenly exclaimed. “Almost forgot. You’re going to need this tonight.”

He went on to pick up a large parcel that had been resting on the chairs behind the table and, with visible effort, lifted it up.

“Phew, a lot heavier than it looks!”

He removed the purple cloth hiding the object in the case and unveiled Izumi’s greatsword, the legendary Amygla, resting in it. Struck speechless for a moment, Izumi was overcome with emotion, as if reunited with an old friend.

“I took the liberty of having it properly cleaned and maintained,” the young man reported. “As well as it could be, at any rate. The tools of the palace blacksmiths could do nothing to it. Whatever the sword is made of, its hardness exceeds even diamonds. Cut my finger just fine, so I suppose it’ll get the job done.”

—“This is…?”

The one to let out the sudden gasp wasn’t Izumi, but the sorceress standing beside her. Carmelia stared at the weapon eyes wide, with a look expressing uncharacteristic emotion.

“Where...did you get this...?” she quietly asked.

“I picked it up lying in the ditch—or not,” Izumi answered. “Yule brought it with her from home. She said something about it being an heirloom of her family, or along those lines. Something old and super special, by the sound of it.”

Not that Izumi had paid close enough attention to the story to recall it any better.

Saying nothing, turning away, as if to hide her expression, Carmelia marched out of the library.

“Hm?” Izumi looked after her in confusion. “Did I say something weird...?”

“Wait, it couldn’t be...” Benjamin mumbled with a sudden frown, staring at the sword.

“What?”

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t know,” he recovered. “There's this old myth, or a song. Not many Imperials are familiar with it, but I saw it in a collection of old tales once. The Langorian Hero King Machilon, and the Battle of the Thornhill Pass...”

“You sure memorize the strangest things,” Izumi remarked, immediately overwhelmed by another barrage of foreign names. “Do you do anything but read all day? Nerd.”

“I don’t need to try; I’ll have you know my memory is absolute!” the young man bragged. “It’s pretty much my only strong point, anyway. Other than my good looks, of course. And besides, knowledge is power, didn’t I tell you that?”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s the story about then?”

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “Roughly seven hundred years ago, give or take, after the daemons drove the elves out of Amarno, the last ship to leave belonged to High King Elenglen himself. However, the elves’ bad luck didn’t end in genocide and exile. Elenglen’s ship was hit by a storm just south of Noertia, causing them to make an emergency landing on the coast of Langoria. They sent out some scouts to confirm their whereabouts, who then ran into Langorian border patrols. The word of these inhuman intruders soon reached the court, and the King of Langoria, thinking the elves had come to invade his land, marched out with a host of knights to drive them back. Some unfortunate misunderstandings took place due to the cultural differences and nobody speaking the other side’s language, resulting in...a fight. Predictably. Though the Langorians suffered heavy losses, the elves were severely outnumbered and ultimately killed, down to the last...not-man. This including the High King himself. That regrettable tragedy is probably the number one cause to the humans and elves’ poor relations, and why we weren’t invited to the alliance two centuries ago. The elves aren’t the type to forget, you know? Longevity and all that.”

“Wow, talk about bad luck,” Izumi commented. “But what’s it got to do with Lia and the sword?”

“I’m getting there, don’t rush me! If my guess is right, which Lady Carmelia’s reaction pretty much confirms, this sword is not Langorian-made, but actually the one that belonged to Elenglen, the High King himself. It was a pretty famous sword at the time, forged of meteorite ore harder than any other metal in the world. Sound familiar? Whole new technologies of metallurgy had to be invented to process it, and it came to play a part in many other songs and bedtime stories. Truly, it’s a masterwork if there ever was one. The sword was supposedly taken as spoils of war by King Machilon of Langoria, which probably explains why the princess could have it. Unbelievable as it seems, the sword has to have been in Langoria for no less than eight hundred years without anyone knowing what happened to it, until she took it out. In the mean time, its fate and existence itself was left to obscurity elsewhere.”

“That’s...something, all right,” Izumi mumbled, staring at the blade on the table.

“Right? As for to the connection to Lady Carmelia...” Benjamin made a troubled face. “Ah, there’s no way she wouldn’t recognize the thing, is there? How careless of me! After all, Elenglen was her father.”

“Ha—?” Izumi’s jaw dropped.

“Yes. Once upon a time, Lady Carmelia was a princess of the elves. Actually, with both her parents deceased now, she should’ve become the High Queen.”

“EEEEEHHH!?” Izumi couldn’t hold her surprise. “Lia is? Royalty? A Queen? That’s—I, why? What do you mean? Why’s she here, playing a simple mage then, if that’s the case? I can’t believe it!”

“It’s all hypothetical, theoretical,” Benjamin hurried to explain. “Carmelia is a cirelo, remember? One of the cursed 'Oathmakers'. At the time of the great divide, she chose to abandon her birthright and royal privileges, in order to join the war effort against the daemons. Whereas the rest of the elves just wanted to forget. In other words, she no longer holds any claim to the Alderian throne. The elves have another King now, from a lesser dynasty, and the factions are not on the best of terms with one another. The mainland elves consider all cirelo tainted by malice and despise them, regardless of their shared origins. Even if they’ve family on the other side.”

“I see...That’s pretty messed up.”

Izumi and Benjamin were both left to admire the sword, which showed no visible signs of its long history, or the hands that once held it.

“Seeing the thing must have reminded her of the past,” Benjamin speculated. “Of all the lost opportunities. What she could’ve been, what she could’ve had. The countless sacrifices made along the way.”

“...Or the father she lost because of us humans,” Izumi muttered. “We took her family. Even the memory of him.”

Did the sorceress have any real motive to aid people, after all?

Didn’t she have every reason to want them all to perish, to suffer, for revenge?

If she did, Izumi couldn’t well blame her. Even the woman felt bitter and frustrated over the injustice of the past, although it had nothing to do with her.

Exactly what kind of an ending are we headed for?

4

The song of nightingales came clear from the apple trees nearby. Yuliana opened her eyes with a gasp and sat up, finding herself lying on the short-trimmed lawn in the garden at the base of her tower. Only, she had no memory of how she had gotten there. The princess sat dazed, looking around, trying to gradually gather her scattered thoughts. By the sun’s position, it appeared to be around noon or a bit after. In other words, she had to have been unconscious for several hours.

What had happened?

Yuliana vaguely recalled waking up to the voice of her Lord. Still drowsy, thinking little of it, she had performed the ritual to summon Aiwesh in her chambers. After that—only light, fluffy warmth, like dancing in the clouds. It wasn’t the first time the Divine spirit had borrowed her body, and as usual, Yuliana herself retained no conscious memory of what transpired during the time. For her, it was no different from sleeping, seeing no dreams, having no awareness, as if in those moments she had ceased to exist altogether.

Now, Yuliana was unmistakably alive again, the vibrantly thriving garden around her, the cerulean sky high above. Other than her odd placement, nothing seemed to be wrong. The flowerbeds looked healthy as ever. The city outside the fence was serene as well, and the Imperial Palace stood before the princess in its usual splendor.

Yet, at the same time, a sense of restlessness filled her. There was something different about the very air around her. Yuliana had an inexplicable feeling that something terrible had happened. Why had Aiwesh requested to be summoned so suddenly, after keeping completely quiet for all week? Clearly enough, it had not been to free the princess from captivity, seeing how she remained within the palace grounds.

There was no hint of anything out of the ordinary, no cause for unrest, if not for the melancholic, lonely feeling the wind conveyed. It was supposed to be spring, yet the atmosphere over the city felt more like late autumn instead.

The princess continued to sit in the garden, absorbed in thought, when a pair of maids appeared through the garden gate. In their white uniforms and headpieces, the maids of the palace all looked nearly indistinguishable from one another, but by their faces Yuliana could tell they were a different pair than the ones who had attended her earlier in the week.

“Your highness,” the two stopped before the princess and greeted her in a neutral tone. “You should have informed us if you wished to go outside.”

“Eh?” Yuliana was thrown for a loop, unable to immediately grasp their meaning.

“It was quite unsettling,” the other one explained, “to find your chambers vacant in the morning. How fortunate that we were able to keep our heads and thought to search the nearby areas first, before reporting this to our superiors.”

“Indeed,” the other maid concurred, “we couldn’t have hidden your highness’s disappearance for much longer than this. It was starting to look really, really bad for us. Thank the Divines we stumbled upon you by pure accident.”

“Don’t put it like that!” the other scolded her companion. “I just didn’t want to meet the same fate as Miria! I told you that people don’t simply vanish into nothingness for no reason! She was here all along, we just missed her the first time. There was nothing to report, so we clearly made the correct decision.”

“Yes, yes, and had we missed her this time too, crows would be poking the eyes off our corpses by tomorrow morning.”

“Be quiet! It wouldn’t have come to that!”

“Um, I can hear everything you’re saying...” Yuliana pointed out. “I—I just felt I needed some fresh air. The door of the chamber was left unlocked and...I’m sorry if I’ve caused you too much trouble.”

“Trouble? Not at all,” the quirkier of the maids said. “Nearly shat myself out of stress, but that’s normal in this line of business.”

“Come on! Don’t say such crude things to his majesty’s guest! She’s a real princess!”

“What? Even if she’s a princess, she’s still a human being, right? I doubt she cares about me acting like an uptight clown when it’s just the three of us.”

“I do think you could stand to be a tad more professional...” Yuliana voiced her opinion. “Even if I do feel remorseful for causing you stress.”

As nonchalant as she tried to act, the maids’ words unsettled the princess.

I really was away from the palace? What was my Lord doing...?

She couldn’t get the opportunity to question the servants further, however.

“Ah, but we have to hurry!” the more sensible of the maids quickly spoke. “Although there was no breakfast served today due to certain...complications in the city, his majesty wished that your highness could still join him for a late lunch. We should be on our way.”

“Yes, we should indeed be on our way, since the temple bells have tolled several times since we were sent for the job. I can practically hear the axe being sharpened already.”

“Don’t try to guilt-trip her highness, it hasn’t been all that long yet!”

“Can’t I have a bit of payback? I’ve honestly never freaked out this bad before in my life.”

“Um, let us go then...” Yuliana suggested.

Yuliana didn’t think she would see the scene on the western terrace again very soon, but there it was. The long table of black wood, with only two chairs, and the breathtaking view over the city. And at the northern end of the table, as before, sat the Emperor, waiting, quietly sipping tea from a little cup.

“You wished to see me?” Yuliana asked with some caution, taking a seat.

Having been nearly deceived so many times, she could no longer bring her guard down next to that unpredictable man, even for a moment. The Emperor didn’t look quite as fatigued and resigned as he had last night. He was pale and the circles under his eyes had grown darker, yes, but otherwise he appeared to be at peace. Even perhaps a bit dignified, like a man who has resigned to his fate and determined to face it with his head held high.

But why?

What could possibly threaten the most powerful man on the continent, behind these enormous walls of stone, and the armies protecting them?

“I know the feeling is not mutual, but yes,” the man said. “I felt it appropriate to have one last heart-to-heart, since such a time has been graciously given to us.”

“Last?” the princess repeated. “Then you have finally determined me worthless and decided to get rid of me? Is that it?”

The man snorted.

“No,” he shook his head, his eyes closed. “Quite the opposite. It is I, who will soon exit this stage.”

“What are you talking about?” Yuliana frowned in confusion. As little sense as it made, it seemed her earlier impression had been correct. What made him say such absurdities? It appeared like a complete reversal of their roles.

“Tonight,” the Emperor answered, “one way or the other, my life will come to an end. That is what I mean.”

“Why? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I suppose I will fall by the blade of an assassin—such is the script fate has prepared for me. And all I can do now is face it. I regret our time together has to end so soon. Just as I regret the way I was compelled to treat you, undeserved. In the end, none of my vile tricks meant anything at all.”

“I don’t understand,” she repeated.

“In time, you will,” he solemnly insisted.

“So I’ve been told. But I find it more than a little hard to believe at this juncture. I imagine a man of your caliber is well used to danger by now. Why are you so certain that all these fortresses, gates, and guards can’t protect you this one time?”

The Emperor said nothing, only exhaling a sigh with a helpless gesture of his hand.

“...This assassin,” Yuliana eventually continued instead, “it’s Izumi you’re talking about, yes? She was there at the Cathedral. She was after you, you lured her there, to use as a hostage. And yet, Bramms is dead and she has escaped. Is it her you’re so afraid of? Am I correct?”

Again, the man kept his silence.

“Allow me to speak with her,” the princess offered. “I can stop her. There has been some kind of a misunderstanding. If only I get the chance to see her, face to face, I’m sure we can settle this in a peaceful manner. No one needs to die anymore.”

“Why?” the man finally asked. “Why would you still try to save someone like me, after everything I’ve done to you and your friend? Should you rather not cheer her on, and wish the worst for myself?”

Looking directly at the Emperor, at that tired, middle-aged man, for the first time, Yuliana didn’t see a ruler or an enemy. Only one weak, defeated human, who looked completely unmatched by the grandeur of the palace around him. And following that observation, instead of fear or awe, anger or respect, all she felt for him was overwhelming pity.

“Because if you die,” she said, “I will never know the reason why I had to go through this week. I can see that easily enough. There is more to you and your goals than I’ve been made to understand. Otherwise, you would not have backed away so easily last night. You’re not an evil man, your majesty. I know this. Perhaps you deserve to die, for all you’ve done in your life, but I am not the judge of that, nor do I wish for it. You have kindness in your eyes. There is wisdom in your words. Yet, you force yourself to do evil things, even when it violates against your own conscience and breaks your heart. You’re a man of many contradictions. You insist it’s all for the good of our world, but I have to wonder—is that really true?”

For some time, the Emperor sat in silence, not meeting her gaze.

Then, right as Yuliana was starting to wonder if he had even been listening, he spoke,

“Do you still remember the story I told you before?”

“About the man of the faithless land?”

“That’s right. I have been thinking about your words all the time since. You told me that the land’s downfall was due to their lack of higher morality, and having no one to protect and uphold their ideals. Those people had no knights to stand up for their rights nor were their rulers wise enough to foresee the dangers. Because they did not believe in greater good, the paranoia brought about by their selfishness became their undoing.”

“Is that not the case?”

“No. I’ve come to the conclusion that this theory is not entirely accurate.”

“How so?”

“It was not a matter of that land’s people being morally bankrupt. Rather, it was precisely because those people believed so wholeheartedly in the goodness of the world and their fellow men, that they failed to anticipate their own ruin.”

“Hm?” Yuliana frowned at his words. “How can that be?”

“Think of it this way,” the Emperor said. “The existence of a ‘knight’ is based on the idea, the conviction, that there exists unforgivable evil in the world. Evil, which the layman cannot oppose, which must be fought and exterminated by an appropriate force, because it is disposed by nature to threaten everything around it. Because, unless this evil is counteracted, it will undermine and ultimately destroy our very way of life. Therefore, an ideal knight is simultaneously people’s protector, as well as their moral compass. Because he must be. His existence is therefore unanimously determined as necessary to our collective good.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Yuliana nodded.

“But the land we spoke of had no knights. Because those people had deemed such an existence unnecessary. Because they had faith—they wholeheartedly believed in the inherent goodness of other people and the possibilities of the future, dismissing the fundamental concept of evil as old-fashioned and fictitious. And it was this groundless misconception that betrayed them.”

“Really...?”

“Yes. Because evil does exist. This land’s people have the right idea. There are forces out there, human and not, the existence of which cannot—must not—be allowed. Which must be opposed, or they will destroy us. Upon this realization, my mind was made up. I may not be a knight myself, nor the most moral of men, but I have made the decision to oppose evil, even if it means my own death. I may be powerless to drive out the darkness in the hearts of other people, but perhaps it is not the outcome that matters. It’s the fact that I’m willing to try. I have seen that there are still individuals out there, right here, who do not submit to pain and terror, but who hold onto their beliefs and resist, even at the expense of their own good. And witnessing this has inspired me. Yes, surely this is the only correct path I must take.”

The Emperor stood and bowed his head.

“Your highness,” he said. “Thank you. Whatever happens tonight, I will be forever grateful for these conversations of ours. Your valor has given me strength to endure the dark days, when I felt my spirit was about to break. But I will be a puppet no more, nor will I allow anyone else to sacrifice themselves for this charade. When the time comes, I will stand up for myself. I just wanted you to know that. So that you would remember me not as a monster amid his machinations, but as a man. Goodbye.”

Having said all he intended, the man unceremoniously turned to leave.

“Wait.” Yuliana quickly jumped up from her chair and called after him. “Why can’t you tell me in plain words what all this is about?”

The man briefly paused, glanced at the princess and replied with an almost boyish smirk.

“Because you are only a princess. And I am the Emperor.”

5

Right as Izumi was about to knock on the door, it opened before her. The two tall halves of engraved brass were pulled out of her way without a sound. There was no one behind to move them, but this was hardly the strangest thing she had seen in her time at the Empire’s capital.

Ahead of her spread the reception hall of Carmelia’s keep, the very same place where the sorceress had given her the quest to slay the sovereign. Already a week had passed since that day, the memory of it regrettably diluted in the wake of the many colorful events since.

At the time, this spacious room with its throne-like chair had seemed unreasonably grand for a mere Court Wizard. However, looking at it again now, better informed, Izumi couldn’t help but think it was depressingly plain and lonely for a person, who should have stood at the top of no simple kingdom but a civilization unlike any other.

Could anyone understand the many sacrifices that person—Caalan Litha Nidh vi Vaniphelia—had made in her long life, to end up here?

“What is it?” Carmelia, resting on her modest seat, had covered her features with a dark, transparent veil, like a mourning widow. She didn’t look particularly surprised to see the woman.

“Well...” Izumi stepped awkwardly before the Court Wizard, holding the elven greatsword on her hands. “I heard the story. And by the looks of it, this belongs to you. It may be slightly overdue, but I thought I’d give it back in person.”

For some time, Carmelia said nothing but stared at the woman without much of an expression.

Likewise, Izumi patiently waited in silence.

“Really, I’d kneel, but my thighs kind of hurt...” Izumi thought to add. “I’m expressing the maximum of respect here, okay.”

The sorceress shut her eyes, looking annoyed.

“You’re right,” Carmelia finally spoke, “the sword is mine by right. Not the only thing I should have inherited from my late father, but perhaps my strongest memory of him. The last one. He carried the blade as we parted ways at the havens of Tar-Elyssae, seven hundred and seventy-six years, one month, and twenty-three days ago.”

“...Ah.” Izumi nodded.

“Did you know?” Carmelia continued. “The name, ‘amygla’ comes from an old proverb, meaning ‘a heart firmer than steel’. In other words, unbending will.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Once, held by our King, that sword was the very symbol of our race. Unbending will. But since then, that symbol has lost meaning. We became divided. The people and the will to pursue justice went their separate ways. Now, none of us has the right to hold that weapon again. For we forgot what it stands for.”

“I see.”

“...Therefore, I entrust it to you, together with everything else I hold dear, in the hopes that it will improve your chances of success tonight, however slightly. At the end of the day, it is only a weapon, to be used as such. I have no need for it.”

“Okay,” Izumi lightly replied, immediately relaxing her stance and casually leaned on the priceless weapon. “I’m not going to lie, I was hoping you’d say that. Since it really is a nice sword to have. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of it.”

“Hm.” Carmelia gave her a somewhat disgruntled look. “Here I worried if the burden of responsibility would prove too great for your spirit. Suppose the concern was needless, if you can still fool around like this.”

“Well, I’ve done so many crazy things by this point, getting the jitters now would be kind of weird, I think. All I can do is go out there and give it my best, like any other day. Either it’s enough or it’s not, and worrying about the things you can do nothing about is just a waste of energy. I’m not young enough to stress so much anymore. It gives me wrinkles.”

“Mysteriously, I think some of your words are beginning to make sense to me.”

“I always make sense, it’s other people who don’t understand!” Izumi insisted.

“You may be onto something. Even after knowing you for a week, I am still unsure of whether to call you an underdeveloped, reckless, mindless animal without a hint of sense, or a rare genius among your kind. I suppose it depends on the perspective.”

“Why did the first option get so much heavier emphasis…?” the woman asked. “Oh well. I won’t tell you to mindlessly trust me, but I’m not going to lose either! After all, I still owe you for the kitty act. Until I’ve returned the value of the favor in full, I absolutely won’t fail!”

“Exactly how valuable was that pointless foolery?” Carmelia asked with some confusion. “Don’t you think there are far more precious things to fight for in such a situation?”

“My, my,” Izumi shook her head with an exaggerated sigh. “Lia has lived for so long and you still don’t know how to listen to your heart? Suppose I knew as much, but it sure is a shock.”

“My heart…?”

“That’s right. The fate of the world, the future of mankind, it sounds cool and all, I give you that. But it’s also way too big for one person to grasp. So I won’t even try. I don’t have any beautiful, big ideals to follow. It just wouldn't feel real. Rather than losing sleep over such complex, manifold matters, you should think more about what’s important to just you, right here and now. It’s something that differs from person to person, and sometimes it can be pretty silly too, but unless you fight for what you truly think is precious to you, then your one and only life is definitely going to waste. That’s all I can say. And my heart is telling me that the cuteness of a beautiful girl is way more precious than any earthly politics or wars or even vengeance. It’s priceless. Yeah, for me, that’s the number one thing driving me on, and I’m sure my conviction there will be left second to none.”

“I take it back, what I said,” Carmelia told her. “You are an unbelievable fool.”

“I got called a fool, gununu...” Izumi hung her head in dejection.

“But...” the sorceress hesitantly continued. “Perhaps it’s the weariness of six thousand years bearing on me, but...somehow, as of late, I have begun to think better of my fallen brother...for being so fond of you humans.”

A bright smile on her lips, Izumi lifted her face.

“Aha! The dere-dere shows itself!”

“Get out,” the sorceress sighed and gestured for Izumi to leave. “Go with my father’s sword and my prayers. Hold onto whatever is dear to you now, human, be it folly or not. And I hope your beliefs grant you the strength to overcome the coming night. Our darkest hour, our final trial.”

Chapter 13: The Sovereign of Men Shows His Cards

1

The night fell with a rain. It was not uncommon for it to rain in the spring, but there was something unusual about the weather that particular night. It was not like the typical, mellow showers that watered the rooftop gardens, made the cobblestones brightly glitter, nourished the fields, and left people walking home refreshed. It was a bleak, cold, uncaring rain, which clung to clothes, sucked the warmth out of the body, and made one feel naked, apathetic, hated, and lost. It was the rain of a godless world, the world outisde, from which the presence of the Divines had long shielded Bhastifal.

The knights restlessly patrolling the vast walls of Selenoreion eyed the city below them with doubt and dread, as if their homes and the homes of their neighbors had suddenly become foreign to them. They were all anxiously waiting for the attack by the unknown enemy, without even knowing the shape it would appear with.

What was going to happen to this city?

What was going to become of the Empire?

Right now, did that Empire even exist anymore?

What was their “country”, anyway? Thinking about it, there was no magical power that could have covered all the land, wordlessly binding everyone and everything in it together, dyeing it with uniform colors. Was their land not, in truth, only towns and cities inhabited by disconnected strangers, great expanses of nothingness in between, their only common denominator being the will of the one who had named them as his “people” and exerted military power over them?

Deep within the Imperial Palace, that connecting factor, the ruler of Tratovia, remained shut inside the Throne Room, fearing the attack of an assassin, unwilling to show himself to his fearful subjects.

And within that very same Palace, in the great library of the south-western keep, a young, bespectacled man slammed his palm on the long table before him.

“The time has come!” he told the woman standing further ahead. “The guards of the inner palace change shifts at midnight. That’s our cue. Make your way to the Azure Hall using the upper passageway and defeat the man they call Heaven’s Hand. After that...it’s a one-way road to the Throne Room. Here’s the master key. Make good use of it.”

Benjamin tossed the key to Izumi, who caught it with a casual move, as if merely heading out for another day in the office.

“I guess it’s come time to say goodbye,” the man told her with a smile. “By tomorrow morning, you’ll be far from this city, loaded with gold. Best of luck to you, Izumi. It was an honor to meet you. I didn’t think real heroes existed, but you’ve changed my mind.”

“What about you?” Izumi asked. “It’s going to be chaos out there soon. Not coming with?”

“Me? Become an adventurer?” Benjamin laughed. “I wouldn’t make it through one day out there in the wilderness! I’m an indoors type through and through, didn’t I tell you that? No, I’m afraid I shall remain here, depending on Lady Carmelia’s whims. It should be all right. I don’t know the specifics of what she has planned for after the Emperor is dead, but no one has any reason to care about a nobody like me. Being absolutely non-threatening is one of my few strong points. Besides—”

“—Your good looks, huh?”

“...That, above all,” the man added with a charming smile. “Well, I can’t say I don’t regret it at all. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be a hero in another world? Fight evil, sword in hand, with songs written about you...So many things left to discover out there. But, these hands of mine simply weren’t made for fending off beasts, as you can see. So you’re going to have to do the discovering in my stead.”

“Regular guys being heroes is pretty popular these days, though,” Izumi told him.

“Really? Maybe I still have a shot then? Oh well. Maybe in another life. At any rate, I have a funny feeling we’ll be seeing each other again. So stay safe until we do. Hopefully, I’ll have a story of my own to tell you when that time comes.”

“Ah, stay safe,” Izumi replied. “I’m off then.”

“Happy hunting.”

Without further ado, Izumi turned to leave, clutching the keys.

Towards a new future, for better or worse.

Towards death.

Towards life.

Towards destiny.

2

The upper passageway was empty. New guard patrols would gradually replace the previous ones, momentarily clearing the way. Or so it had been explained. In any event, there were no enemies currently in sight, as if a zombie apocalypse had hit the capital. Izumi ran low along the open-air hallway on the side of the palace wall, towards the main building, sticking to the shadows, keeping her senses sharp. Cold wind blew against her face, calming her nerves. Outside the railing spread the city, veiled in the darkness of the night, the heavy rain obscuring visibility. It worked to her advantage. In that weather, no archer would be sniping at her from the nearby towers or terraces.

Following a few sharp turns in the heights, and a handful of quick flights of white marble stairs, Izumi reached the doorway leading into the main part of the palace. Mostly used by servants, it was a simple, inconspicuous, copper-plated door, turned green by oxidization, securely locked at all times. With the key the secret order had procured for her, Izumi opened the door without effort, and slipped inside.

The doorway brought her to the second floor walkway in the Azure Hall, named after the beautiful blue patterns adorning the ceiling, and countless little tiles of jade-like gemstone. Izumi had already passed through this hall once before with Yuliana, on the day of their arrival. The path to the Throne Room from here was familiar to her, just through the central hall beyond the large gate in the other end.

There were no shiny knights in their ceremonial gear to be seen.

The silence of the hall was uninterrupted.

And yet—the way was blocked.

As she had been warned it would be. Izumi knew to expect it.

And yet, seeing that man once again made her pulse automatically quicken its beat.

Before the great doorway stood a single warrior.

Today, he hadn’t painted his body, showing his heavily tanned features, his determined eyes, his long, thick, dark brown hair, tied tightly back to keep his vision clear.

Instead of a heavy armor, that brawny man wore a brown vest, and a leather kilt. Like Izumi, it seemed he favored mobility over defense. In both his hands were swords, one with a curved blade, a bit like a large sickle, another one straight and short, similar to a Roman spatha. Both quick and deadly weapons in skilled hands, difficult if not downright impossible to counter with a greatsword, even if their reach was shorter.

There was no way to catch him by surprise either.

No place to hide in the straightforward hall.

Steadying her breathing, Izumi descended the nearby stairs and faced her nemesis directly.

Without a word, they stared at each other across the hall.

Once before, Izumi had fought that man to a bitter draw. No, a defeat.

Although, for him, the loss of the invaluable weapon, despite his overwhelming advantage, was probably no less bitter.

Tonight, in this place, their grudges would be settled, for once and for all.

Izumi drew breath.

This was it.

The confrontation that would be remembered in legends long after.

The summoned champion from lonely planet Earth, Itaka Izumi…

And at the other end of the hall, the strongest warrior in Tratovia’s infamous Guild of Heroes, the man known as ‘Heaven’s Hand’, a hand that takes lives the way a farmer’s scythe mows down hay, unrivaled and irresistible, Waramoti from the land of Oss...

Two people representing the highest order of skill attainable by mortal humans, one man in the Empire’s defense, one woman against it.

Surely only one would walk away from their second meeting, if either.

Throwing away all unnecessary thoughts, feeling the thrill and tension that only those in a genuine life-or-death situation could experience, Izumi drew her sword, kicked off the floor and dashed forward.

Gefir, Sifl, Gram, Tauhirn...Carmelia had warned Izumi to never activate more than four runes at once. She activated five all the same, disregarding the risks. Magically augmenting her abilities beyond their human capacity, Izumi was prepared to give her absolute everything in this fight.

Because this was an opponent who demanded no less.

Even stripped of the divine blessings, Waramoti was still a seasoned hero who outclassed Izumi in every aspect of combat, in strength, stamina, durability, mobility, and, most importantly, field experience. Underestimating him would come at a deadly cost. Going easy on their enemy was what all Izumi’s foes had died for, it would have been nothing but the world record of irony for her to be undone for the same reason.

Too much was at stake to not take him down with absolutely everything she had.

This fight could be decided in a single move.

And if she didn’t claim his head with that one move, it would surely become her end instead.

She would lose everything.

Carmelia would lose everything.

And Yuliana—

“You’re already dead!” Izumi cried and raised her weapon. “As Kenshiro says!”

As if to mirror her, Waramoti charged, swords in both hands, his countenance one that would traumatize children. Without wavering, without blinking, his dark eyes were fixed at his opponent, no doubt searching for some critical weakness to exploit, to deliver the deathblow.

And then, as the combatants neared, that proud warrior raised both his muscular arms. With a determined face, he swiftly cast both his weapons away to his sides, dropped sliding down to his knees, and shouted in his thundering voice,

——“I SURRENDER!”

“...Huh?” Izumi stopped, the kneeling warrior before her.

Had she misheard him? Did some synapse in her brain misfire, causing her to hear things? Surely he had yelled, “I will kill you!” instead? That would have made a great deal more sense. No, there he was, kneeling in front of her, unarmed hands pressed firmly against the red carpet, indicating nothing but full and total submission.

“Whoa, that’s sly!” Izumi gasped, appalled. To think a warrior of his level would resort to such dirty tricks to make her drop her guard! “Well, whatever you’re planning, it doesn’t matter.”

Izumi gripped her sword tighter, ready to cut off his head.

“No! Stop!” Waramoti quickly gestured for her to wait. “I mean it! There is no trick! I surrender!”

“What?”

“I cannot best you, nor do I have any reason to even try. I don’t want to die! You can proceed from here and I will do nothing to hinder you or get in your way.”

“...You think I’m going to believe that?” Izumi retorted, lifting her sword again.

“I swear it,” he insisted. “On my honor, I speak the truth and nothing but the truth. I am not your enemy. Never was! There is not a single reason for us to fight.”

No matter how she stared at him, Izumi could discern no wickedness or mischief in his stern, straightforward gaze. The man appeared to be telling the truth. His weapons were too far away for him to suddenly seize them and lash back at her. One could argue that his body itself was a weapon of lethal effectiveness, but Izumi, fifth dan in Brazilian Jujutsu, with Tauhirn and Gram active, wouldn’t be overwhelmed so easily.

“Well, I’d better lop off your head anyway, just to on the safe side,” she said and raised her sword once more.

“I AM A BARD!” Waramoti exclaimed.

“Excuse me—what?”

“I am a bard,” he repeated. “I never wanted to be a warrior or a mercenary or a hero or whatever. I didn't want songs written about me, I wanted to be the one to write them, about someone else! My dream, ever since I was a child, was to become a traveling singer and compose ballads for other people’s pleasure. And that's all.”

“You don’t look one bit like a bard,” Izumi pointed out.

“Of course not,” he admitted. “The village I come from isn’t known for its bards. My people are all warriors, men, women, children, even the pets. Cows too, for blast’s sake. I was put through excruciating training to become a dog of war from the moment I was old enough to hold a sword, the same as everybody else, and that is the sole reason to why I look the way I do. It’s just muscle, crude flesh! But within my chest, my heart never ceased to yearn for the art of music and poetry.”

“You really do have a knack for making up stuff, I give you that. But sorry, I’m pretty sure it’s going to come back to bite my ass if I don’t kill you here.”

Izumi raised her sword again.

—“Would you like some tangerines?”

“Ha?”

Waramoti suddenly broke into song.

“Then come to markets of Esopos, the first thing in the morning/

But I’ve become a man of seas/

Where the wind is now blowing, I’ll be quickly into going/

Throw away such fantasies/

They take your head and leave it hanging, on your door they come a-banging...”

“Er...What are you doing…?” Izumi interrupted him.

“My first song performance,” Waramoti explained. “The Tangerines of Esopos, it was called. It earned me forty pieces of copper at a tavern at Esopos. Although, I suppose they mostly paid out of fear when I asked them to, and not because they honestly liked the piece. Even after I went to the trouble of composing it for their benefit. Then again, rather than saying I intimidated them, would you not say that this was a form of successful marketing instead?”

“You were...actually telling the truth?”

“When I became of age, sick of the whole honorable macho warrior-thing, I left my home village to pursue my true calling. I worked tirelessly to make my dream true and sang in every town, every port, every street corner I could find. My reputation started out a tad poor at first, but I persisted for the sake of art. Eventually, however, I ended up gaining some rather troublesome fans.”

“Fans?” Izumi raised a brow.

“The Divines,” Waramoti answered. “My travels eventually brought me to Bhastifal, and I made the mistake of doing a public reading of poetry at a pub in the Gralia district one night. I was trying to woo a certain woman, but somehow, Lord Cinithlea also heard my efforts. For reasons unknown, she developed a profound appreciation for my art, the likes of which no mortal has displayed before or since. At first, I was overjoyed to finally find myself a patron, and of such a high profile one to boot. And yet, my delight soon turned into terror instead.”

“Terror?”

“Yes. Since that fateful night, the Divines forced me to go read them my poems every single day I was at the capital. Because of their magic, I was unable to run away, so I volunteered for the Imperial army instead, knowing the Divines were unable to interfere in the matters of the state. I figured I’d get sent off to war somewhere far, far away, where I could finally break free of the spell and escape—or better yet, die off in peace. But the Lords wouldn’t let me off that easily. They pushed their blessings on me, which not only kept me from death, but made me into legend. Again and again, I was forced to return home victorious, and I was about to reach writer’s block for real. But suddenly this morning, all of this changed. The Divines have vanished and their blessings together with them. I am a free man now, and I will never fight another war in my life. From today on, I am 'Heaven’s Hand' no more. Gods, I hated that title! I am now Waramoti, the Bard, and that is what shall be carved on my gravestone, if only it’s up to me to decide.”

“………………………………..Okay?”

Somehow, the greatest duel in modern history was over before the first blow.

Suspicious though Izumi remained of him, Waramoti showed no sign of changing his mind, but courteously instructed her to go on ahead, opening the hallway door for her. He even returned the magnetite vest.

“You don’t need to believe me,” he said. “Just take my weapons and bar the door from the other side. So long as I remain in guard here, no one will dare to pursue you.”

“Thanks...I guess?”

“No, thank you. It’s because of you and your associates that the Divines have ceased to be, is it not? Therefore, I owe you no less than my life and freedom twice over. It is a debt I will do my utmost to repay some day.”

“No, thanks,” Izumi declined. “I’d rather never see you again, if I can help it.”

“Why, do you still hold a grudge for the other day? You were the one who tried to kill me out of nowhere, remember! Can you fault me for only defending myself?”

“...I suppose that’d be a bit unreasonable,” Izumi had to admit, recalling her actions that night. His story totally made her look like the villain.

“Right?” he agreed. “So let’s put that trifling matter behind us. By all means, for the gratitude I have for you, we should be best of friends.”

“Look, even if you aren’t strictly a bad guy, that doesn’t mean I suddenly like you a whole lot. Rather, you needlessly handsome muscle guys make me uncomfortable, so why don’t we keep this purely platonic, and part ways without further ado?”

“Ah, a professional to the core,” Waramoti nodded approvingly. “I, on the other hand, have deep respect for your type. You are unusually disciplined, for a woman.”

“What do you mean, for a woman? That’s sexism!”

“...What’s ‘sexism’? It sounds lewd, somehow.”

“Never mind,” Izumi heavily sighed. “Talking to you is seriously draining. I’m just going to go ahead now.”

“Good luck,” the man told her. “And do be careful. My oath of fealty prevents me from disclosing anything that might bring his majesty at a disadvantage, so I cannot directly help or advise you. Fortunately, he gave me no direct orders to defeat you either, so remaining neutral should keep me safe.”

“It sure warms my heart how you put your own safety above mine, even after declaring us as best of friends.”

“That just means I trust you to make it through this alive without my needless sacrifice. If you fail, despite my faith in you, then wouldn’t that make me look like a terrible judge of character? Would one normally count on a complete stranger this way? Not, right? Surely this only speaks of the firm bond that destiny has forged between us. Besides, who will record the events of this faithful night in a song, if I, the only literate person here, were to perish?”

“Don’t just assume I’m illiterate!” Izumi retorted. “Although, it’s true I’m probably never going to write any of this down. I don’t have such a talent and it only sounds like a huge waste of time. Not like anyone would believe a word of it.”

“True, I might have to alter a few details here and there to better appeal to the local audiences,” Waramoti went on to ponder. “But such is the part of the poet. I have my own livelihood to mind also.”

“Aren’t you a little too quick to give up on honesty? You have no principles, do you!? Wait a minute, what parts were you going to change, exactly!? I can’t let you publish anything that will ruin my reputation! I have my brand as a champion from another world to consider!”

“Wait, what kind of a brand? Demonic, or divine?”

Barely before losing her temper, Izumi recalled her mission and forced herself to leave the self-proclaimed bard behind. Getting past Heaven’s Hand without expending her fighting strength was no doubt an enormous stroke of good luck, but it was still too early to celebrate.

Waramoti’s words had, in part, indirectly confirmed the paranoid idea which had haunted her all day.

She was being expected.

The exact hour and manner of her arrival were already known to her target, even though it shouldn’t have been possible. Exactly what manner of a vile setup awaited her ahead, in the ominous Throne Room, she couldn’t yet even guess.

But there was no choice.

Regardless of the danger, there was no turning back now.

3

I need to do something. The longer she waited, the firmer this conviction grew within Yuliana. For reasons the princess couldn’t understand, Izumi was expected to kill the Emperor tonight, as if the fact were already written in stone.

Following her brief meeting with his majesty, Yuliana had been escorted back to her chamber in the tower on the south-western corner of the palace and locked there. She kept anxiously pacing back and forth in that spacious room, as the melancholic day slowly passed, feeling neither hungry nor sleepy.

As the nightfall neared, that torturous restlessness only grew worse.

Something terrible was going to happen. Soon.

If Izumi was indeed being expected, then she was most likely headed into a trap and would be killed. If, by some chance of a miracle, she managed to kill the Emperor instead, then the whole country would be thrown into chaos and disorder. And Izumi wouldn’t walk safely out of that either.

So many were going to suffer, and for what?

Did anyone even know?

There had to be a way to prevent their meeting, stop the worst from happening.

But how?

Why was Izumi doing this, anyway? Was the woman still trying to save Yuliana? Did she think the princess was in danger or held against her will? Strictly speaking, it was true, but Yuliana didn't wish for rescue. Yet, the one thing the princess had feared the most from the beginning was about to come true anyhow. If only she could somehow tell the woman to give up on her plans...

“Ah…!”

Suddenly, the princess recalled the enchanted chain she had been given by the mysterious young man. How could she ever forget about it! It should have still had enough power for one brief contact. Yuliana now quickly pulled that chain from her pocket and clutched it, gathering her focus. If that youth was indeed connected to Izumi somehow, then he could surely deliver the warning. “Keep away, you’re being expected!”

It took quite some time to establish the contact. Was the magic in the chain already waning? But eventually, the familiar male voice did resound in her mind again.

“Your highness? Is something the matter?”

Her heart beating painfully hard in her chest, Yuliana quickly responded,

“I’ve heard his majesty is expecting an attempt on his life tonight! Is this true? That someone’s planning to kill him? It’s not Izumi, is it? Please tell me it’s not her...”

“Huh? Ah, er, why are you asking...?” the young man’s voice stammered.

“You have to tell her to keep away from the palace, if you can! She’s walking into a trap!”

“A trap!? What do you mean by that?”

“They know she’s coming! We can’t let her go through with it, she’ll be killed for certain! And there’s no reason for his majesty to die either! It’s complete madness, this whole affair! You can’t let them go through with it! There’s got to be another way!”

“'Let them?' W-what do you expect me to do? I’m just a...a totally inconspicuous nobody, with no authority whatsoever. A cog in the machine. Nobody’s going to listen to anything I say!”

“You have to try!” the princess told him. “I’m going to see if I can get out of here. But in case I can’t make it in time, please...Don’t let Izumi anywhere near the palace, all right? Tell her I forbid it! I will never forgive her if she goes in there! She must not kill the Emperor, no matter what!”

“...I will see what I can do. But please, your highness, don’t do anything stupid now. The palace is in high alert. If the guards catch you wandering outside, you could be—well, they will not be asking questions tonight! Anyway, it’s not safe! So stay away from the palace, no matter what! Do you hear me?”

“I can’t just sit still while they’re killing each other!”

“I understand how you feel, but it’s at times like this that you must try to stay calm and think—”

Benjamin’s voice abruptly faded away mid-sentence.

It appeared that either side had run out of energy to preserve the contact.

“Oh great...” Not relieved in the least, Yuliana threw the magic item away.

It was clear that there were no guarantees that the message would reach Izumi, unless Yuliana took it to her in person. She had to find a way out of confinement, but how? She was on the highest floor of a tower, with only one way down. Well, two, if you counted the window. Needless to say, surviving the fall of nearly a hundred feet wasn’t something she was willing to try.

Then again, she had already escaped once today…Even if the exact methods of that feat were unknown to her.

Would Aiwesh aid her this time?

The sun had already set and the Divine’s powers were restricted by her element. But, performing the ritual to manifest the spirit, Yuliana could share her form and expend her own vitality, allowing the ancient being to temporarily overcome her natural restrictions.

There was no other way.

Yuliana knelt, crossing her arms across her chest and closed her eyes.

“My Lord, I beseech thee—wah!”

The princess was suddenly blinded by a flash of light, which appeared to fill her whole head. An abrupt surge of power within her startled the girl and, as though she had been slapped, she lost her balance, leaving the incantation unfinished.

“What…happened?”

Yuliana slowly sat back up, rubbing her eyes. Her head hurt. Although no explanation was offered for the odd seizure, she got the vague impression that she was being reprimanded. It was the first time the Divine spirit had expressed such direct strictness with her.

“Why...at a time like this?”

It was as if Aiwesh was telling her to not get involved.

—Be patient, my child, and I will give you the world.

“Eh…?” An odd, vaguely frustrating feeling filling her, Yuliana struggled up to her feet. Clearly, she was on her own. There would be no help from anyone else. But even after being denied by her Lord, she didn’t intend to give up. People’s lives were at stake. So long as she had control over her own arms and legs, she would keep trying.

With no better ideas, Yuliana approached the door and repeatedly struck it with her fist. There should have been two guards in watch outside...It was risky, but if only she could slip past them, her range of options would become considerably broadened. This was the last method she wanted to try, but desperate situations called for desperate measures.

“Open up!” she shouted. “I demand to speak to his majesty at once!”

There came no response.

"Open immediately! This is important!”

She didn’t even sense anyone’s presence on the other side. Nevertheless, Yuliana continued to stubbornly hit and kick the door, calling for someone, anyone to open it. Over time, her manner of addressing the possible outsiders turned increasingly ruder, until she was practically yelling out insults.

Then, at long last, she heard a key in the lock and took a hurried step back.

The guards weren’t going to be happy with her after all that racket. It could even turn into a fight. Without a weapon or armor, things didn't look well for the princess, but she couldn’t let that stop her now.

Then, the door opened, and instead of a crude guard, a palace maid’s head appeared in view.

“Good heavens, your highness, you kiss your mother with a mouth like that?” she asked.

The maid was one of the two who had been looking for Yuliana earlier, apparently assigned to her service in place of the previous pair. The maid’s earlier companion was also behind her, but it seemed there had been no guards outside, after all.

“I was just trying to get...Oh, never mind,” the embarrassed princess started to reflexively defend her behavior, before realizing the pointlessness of it.

The two maids entered the chamber.

“Were you hungry, your highness?” the other one asked. “If you would like a late night snack, I can prepare something modest for you. Although, I feel I must warn your highness of the perils of snacking at such a timing...”

“—What Tilfa means to say is that you’re going to get fat,” the other one said. “Even more fat than you already are, that is,” she added, glancing at the princess’s chest.

“I was trying to break it nicely!” the maid called Tilfa cried.

“Yes, you’re always sucking up to royalty. But I’m not going to let you get promoted and leave me behind by myself.”

“Hila! At this rate, we’ll both end up in prison! Or worse!”

“Don’t worry,” the maid called Hila said, “if we’re taken in for questioning, I will blame everything on you.”

“I’m going to get thrown in prison alone...Or worse.”

“You two...” Yuliana rubbed her forehead and felt that her headache was growing worse.

“Forgive us, your highness,” Hila said, not sounding very remorseful, “but this is our second night shift, we’ve been awake for two days straight, and cannot be held responsible for our behavior.”

“We will most definitely be held responsible!” Tilfa pointed out.

“What I mean to say is, I am progressively unable to give a damn.”

“Why do I always get paired up with you? My luck is simply the worst!”

“Excuse me,” the princess interrupted the two arguing servants. “Aren’t you the least bit interested to know why I was making so much noise here?”

“No,” Hila blankly replied without a pause.

“Ah, forgive us, your highness,” Tilfa humbly bowed. “Please tell us what you want.”

“She doesn’t care either, she’s lying. See? What a kiss-ass.”

“Hila, shut up!”

“You should be more honest with yourself. People admire directness over good manners these days. Take Malik, for example. She’s such a rude fucking bitch, yet all the guys can’t stop buzzing around her without a moment’s rest, and the head maid doesn’t seem to care...”

“I don’t need to be popular, I just want to get paid this month, is that too much asked…?”

“Okay, listen up, you two,” Yuliana raised her voice. “I’m going to be perfectly direct with you now. I will take whatever keys you have, lock you up here, and leave. Do you have anything to say about that?”

The maids fell quiet and glanced at each other.

“...No, as you’d expect, that’s really going to land us in prison,” Hila said.

“Ma’am, I understand this is a trying experience for you, but...”

Yuliana took a quick step forward, caught Hila’s thin neck under her arm and held the maid down in a chokehold.

“I should add that besides a princess, I am also a knight officer, and prepared to use force, if necessary. Now, Tilfa, was it? Your keys. You have them, don’t you? After all, no one in their right mind would give this fool anything of importance.”

“Hey, I resent that—ow!” Hila tried to speak, but Yuliana tightened her hold.

“Yes, here, please don’t kill my friend,” Tilfa quickly took out the keys from her pocket and handed them to Yuliana.

“Don’t give them!” Hila shouted. “Get away!”

“Oh, aren’t we brave?” Yuliana said with an evil grin, pulling the maid closer to herself. “As I thought, it’s at moments of crisis that people reveal their true colors, and even a fool can prove to be a hero.”

“...No,” Hila replied, “it’s just, it’s really turning me on, getting roughed up by a busty younger girl. Please don’t stop.”

“…..”

“…...”

Yuliana took the keys and locked up the two maids in her chamber.

“Is everyone in this country absolutely mad…?”

She headed down the long spiral staircase, while frantically trying to plan her next move. Even if she could get out of the tower, she would surely be caught trying to get into the main building. The guards wouldn’t allow her to see the Emperor at a time like this, regardless of what she told them, but simply either return her back in her room, or throw her in jail.

Or...there were worse options. She had received a clear warning, after all.

Yuliana couldn’t possibly fight all the knights along the way either. She wasn't Izumi, and fully aware of the limits of her ability. Were there even any weapons in the tower? But, if direct methods weren’t possible, then what could she do, exactly? She couldn’t fly, sneaking through was no less difficult, and she couldn’t well dress up as a guard and fool the others to get past them either…

“Wait a minute, not as a guard, but...”

Yuliana stopped in her tracks.

Surely the palace servants had nothing to fear?

Thinking about it further, Yuliana regretted not taking the outfit of one of the maids, even if that would have resulted in an even more bothersome exchange…But where did the maids stay while keeping watch, anyway? Not in the cold, bare hallway, certainly. There had to be a place closer by, where they could remain on standby for extended periods of time. Somewhere close enough that they could hear the noise she was making. Yuliana started to check the doors along the way down, searching the rooms she could access with the keys she had taken.

Her reasoning appeared accurate.

Yuliana soon found a room with a simple fireplace and tables, and a small kitchen. There was nothing especially useful in there, but she continued looking. In the next room, the floor below, were bedclothes, sheets, towels, and curtains. Searching this storage further, she eventually came across a rack with spare maid uniforms hanging on it. Just what she had been searching for.

In a hurry, Yuliana took off her dress and changed into an outfit closest to her size that she could find.

“This is...more awkward than I imagined.”

That white, gold-lined uniform was tight especially around the chest and her waist, making her recall the maid’s painful earlier observation. But, together with the headpiece, it hid her features well enough, making her look only like another impersonal servant. No one who didn’t know her face could tell she wasn’t part of the palace staff. Together with a lantern she had found, she looked much like a simple maid on some late night errand.

Even if it didn’t give her direct access into the palace, the disguise should have allowed her to move around without instantly raising an alarm. She could decide what to do next once outside.

With strengthened resolve, the princess hurried down the stairs to the ground floor.

There were two guards watching the entrance outside. She simply walked past them, as if they didn’t even exist, trying to act natural. No one called after her, as she crossed the rainy front yard, to the next gate in the perimeter fence. With the keys, she was able to unlock the gate, dispelling whatever doubts any observer might have had of her identity, even though she had to try twice to pick the right key.

Locking the way behind her again, the light of hope grew brighter within the princess.

Just like that, Yuliana had escaped confinement. But the main palace stood far away still, like a mountain she had barely started to climb. The frizzle wetting her face, she gazed around, trying to find the best way forward.

In the dark of the night, Selenoreion looked like a different city. On a quick look, Yuliana judged she could either follow the stairs ascending right, past the tower, which took to the main entryway, after a brief circle around the corner. But the front gate was bound to be heavily guarded. From her position alone, past the fences and houses, Yuliana could see two knights, and by their positioning, it was easy to deduce there would be more along the path.

No matter how she appeared like a simple worker, brazenly marching in through the front entrance on a night like this would have been too weird. No getting in that way.

However, she saw another, more roundabout way.

High up, behind the buildings ahead, Yuliana could see a skywalk connect the servant’s dormitory with the main palace. That had to be her way in. She hurried across the street, and unlocked the next gate on the opposite side, to get into the yard between the staff buildings. Fortunately, the Imperial Guard had prioritized the walls and entryways in their line of defense, allowing her to move through the inner areas without difficult encounters.

Sneaking past the buildings, the princess rushed up the stairs going up along the servant’s dorms, up and up, at times running into a dead end between the tightly spaced houses, at times seeking a shortcut through indoors, running into strange folk, making up random excuses, returning outside, a few times slipping on the wet pavement, breaking her lantern by accident, and once getting scared by a guard dog behind another fence.

Then, finally, after the great adventure, the skywalk extended before her weary feet.

Just a bit further from there, and she would find the Emperor.

Just a bit further, and she might see Izumi again.

A great tragedy could be averted—she was certain.

If only she could see those two, everything would be made clear. All the questions would be answered.

No more lives had to be lost.

How? She couldn’t tell, but she would find a way.

Encouraging herself to keep going, Yuliana ran across the stone bridge high up between the buildings.

After about one third of the way, it hit her.

——“IYAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

Agony unlike any she had ever experienced struck the princess down mid-step.

As if a lifetime’s worth of guilt had gripped her heart all at once, freezing her insides, she collapsed on the spot, writhing, blinded by the pain.

Yuliana had experienced a similar feeling once before, weeks ago in the Felorn woods. But the sensation this time was much stronger, clearer in both effect and meaning. She knew without a question—should she take but one step further from there, it would mean directly breaking her vow.

“Why…?” Yuliana gasped, catching her breath, looking at the path ahead of her. So close, yet distinctly beyond reach. “Why now? I don’t understand…! What did I do? What does it mean…!?”

The ceaseless rain drumming the skywalk roof gave her no answers.

4

The nexus hall, in the heart of the immense building complex...One could thence access all parts of the palace, east and west, the front entrance, as well as the Throne Room itself. Four knights in red capes awaited Izumi, guarding the way to the lion’s den.

“For his majesty!” they exclaimed in unison, before picking up their ceremonial spears and attacking. Their emotionless, fish-eyed looks disturbed the woman. Their blind charge lacked unity, intent, and plan. The men were either drugged or plain drunk. Perhaps to dampen their fears, to allow them to carry out their final duty. Clearly enough, no one had earnestly expected them to protect anything. They had been picked out to be sacrificed, in order to preserve the illusion of normality.

For no reason. There was nothing normal about them and neither did their placement have any meaning. Due to their debased state, the guards’ aggression lacked edge. A hollow unease eating at her from inside, Izumi quietly knocked the knights out with the flat side of the blade, one by one, before proceeding to approach the glum doorway of black stone in the back of the hall.

The moment of truth.

Just like Yuliana had done on the night of their arrival, Izumi went on to push the heavy gateway open and walked in.

At a glance, nothing about the Throne Room looked changed since the first visit. Of course. Probably nothing much about this room differed from the way it had been built who knew how many centuries ago. The road to the Onyx Throne remained free of obstructions. The famous heroes tasked with his majesty’s protection had all either been slain or were otherwise out of reach.

And there, on that bombastic chair, sat the man himself, like posing for a portrait.

The Emperor of Tratovia.

“So you’ve come,” the dark-browed man greeted Izumi in his deep voice, not looking surprised in the least to see her. Indeed, he shortly added, “I have been expecting you.”

“Can I skip this cutscene?” Izumi asked, walking on.

“Are you in such a hurry to murder me?”

“Look, it’s nothing personal, mister,” Izumi told him. “Some people I know just happen to think you’ve been doing a piss-poor job as the boss of this country, and they want you gone. Capturing cute princesses is not really an endearing character trait either. But whether I kill you, or you resign and walk out of that door on your own, it makes no difference to me.”

“I see,” the Emperor said, unhurriedly standing up. “I’m afraid simply resigning is not an option for me, however.”

“If you say so.”

To emphasize that it really didn’t matter to her, Izumi held out her sword.

His majesty’s gaze narrowed.

“Even after coming this far, you cannot tell that you are being deceived?” By the throne, leaning on the stone, was a slim shortsword, which the Emperor proceeded to pick up. “You will kill me simply because you were ordered to, never questioning the motives of those who hired you? Never making an attempt to picture the consequences that your actions will bring, not only for yourself but for everyone else around you?”

“I’m really missing that fast forward option, you know?” the woman retorted. “Yeah, everybody’s got ulterior motives, isn’t that a given? And every choice has consequences, both good and bad. Because we’re people, not the Justice League, and this is life. I’m not here to argue who’s objectively more evil, because that kind of grade school debates belong in bad video games. I picked my side, and I’m going to stick to my guns, that’s all. And whatever happens, happens. If things go south tomorrow, then I’ll deal with it in due time—tomorrow.”

“Because obeying without questions and not looking ahead is far easier than taking responsibility for yourself?” the man asked, stepping down the stairs from the throne.

“That’s pretty ironic, coming from a tyrant feared by half the world,” Izumi pointed out. “Since when did you ever have to take responsibility for anything you did?”

“Irony...” his majesty repeated. “Yes. We’re not missing any of that here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Izumi shrugged, “even contradicting yourself is fine. I’m not asking you to be the perfect person. It doesn’t matter if you make stupid decisions for stupid reasons, so long as you don’t cry and moan about it afterwards. If you ask me, I may have made some dumb-sounding choices, but when I think back to why I did it, I strongly feel it was worth it. Can you say the same?”

“Of course not,” the Emperor answered. “My whole life was nothing but poor choices and regrets. But that doesn’t mean I want to surrender and die.”

“...My condolences, I guess? It’s not like I don’t see where you’re coming from. Had I never been brought to this world, I’d probably be thinking the same way now.”

“Then, things changed for you, after coming here?”

“Of course? How could they not? It’s another world we’re talking about. Isn’t fixing your past mistakes and taking a different route the whole point of it all?”

“...What a shame,” the man sighed. “I would’ve liked to have a more in-depth conversation with you, about a great many things. But, regrettably such a choice has not been given to us. If you claim to have no regrets, then let us fight for our respective convictions.”

Raising his sword before his face and nodding in a chivalrous expression of respect, the Emperor cut down, signaling his readiness.

“Come!”

“As you wish!”

Banishing the fleeting spark of sympathy that had momentarily been lit inside her, Izumi tightened her grip on the greatsword’s handle and took a stance.

She had felt no hatred for her foe from the beginning.

No matter how he had been branded a monster and a tyrant, even now, looking at him in the eyes, Izumi felt nothing resembling animosity towards the man. She felt nothing at all.

Nevertheless.

Regardless.

In spite of it all.

Kill or be killed.

Kill or don’t kill.

After all the souls she had delivered from this world, refusing here would have been nothing if not the epitome of hypocrisy. Of lunacy. Of sheer stupidity. This man was her enemy, representing everything she opposed in this other world, the source of all her misfortune, starting from the night of her summoning.

Unless he died, it would surely never end.

For a moment, the combatants stared at each other in complete silence.

Then, the Emperor made the mistake of blinking.

By the time his eyelids were drawn back again, Izumi had already advanced five steps and was fast on the way across the Throne Room.

There was no reason to think up a complex strategy.

Accelerating her movements with Sifl, she crossed the distance in a flash.

Perhaps it was oversight on her part, but she used no other Words.

No, her assessment of the situation had certainly been the correct one—to eliminate the opponent with the minimum necessary force. Nothing more could be reasonably expected to settle it.

Unarmored, with only the slim short sword for a weapon, the Emperor was good as naked before the Amygla’s shining edge. One overhead blow by the old blade would end the duel short. He needed magical protection comparable to a Divine Blessing to endure it, but even in the event that his arm strength surpassed his human frame, his weapon would not take it.

By all means, it should have been over with this.

It should have been.

But, after coming this far, Izumi remained suspicious to the end.

It had to be a trap—all her senses were screaming at her to watch out.

Yet, regardless of her caution, without the rune of acceleration enhancing her movements and senses, it would have been her end instead.

—“Whoa!”

Right as Izumi was about to lift her sword to deliver the deathblow, she caught a flash reflected in the Amygla’s clean surface. Something was flying at her from her eight o’clock, fast. Izumi broke off her attack and twisted her head to the side, leaning out of the way of the approaching threat.

An arrow shot a bit past her brow, striking one of the pillars lining the walkway to her right, rebounding harmlessly onto the floor.

It was a black shaft of raven feathers, with a head of dark metal attached—in that metal, a strange letter vaguely resembling Poseidon’s trident was engraved.

Startled, Izumi glanced over her shoulder, in the direction the eerie projectile had come from; just in time to see a ghastly, transparent figure, like an armored man, slip back into complete invisibility. Hearing rustling from the opposing side, she turned back, to see an identical apparition crouch and retrieve the discarded arrow, before melting back into nothingness.

Unlike how it had seemed at first, she was not alone with the Emperor.

And although it was not one of the runes taught to her by the Court Wizard, Izumi could still recognize the letter on the arrow. She had seen both the character and its effects numerous times before—Yodith, the perilous rune of immolation.

“Wait a minute…!”

There was no time to think.

While Izumi remained distracted, the Emperor quickly stepped up to her, lifting his weapon into a furious overhead strike. No matter how he was an amateur, he was still an adult man, and his arm strength was nothing to laugh at. Izumi likewise raised her weapon as a shield to receive the strike. But at the last moment, the man relaxed his arms instead, and swapped his attack for a crude knee kick in the stomach.

“Gh…!” Receiving the impact with her abdominal muscles, Izumi was pushed back and lost her balance. Shrugging off the pain, she rolled around her hips and was quickly back up on her feet, ready to receive the next attack.

—“Huh?”

Against her expectations, the Emperor didn’t follow through with the successful assault, but stood back.

Instead, two arrows came flying at Izumi, loosened by invisible archers at her two and ten o’clock, respectively. She leaned right to evade the other, while deflected the second with her sword. Although the reflexive defense had been successful, the latter shaft passed unnervingly close to her right shoulder.

As soon as the volley had been delivered, the Emperor charged again, aiming a merciless stab at her chest. Turning sideways to avoid it, Izumi momentarily locked swords with the man.

“You and your cheap tricks…!” she groaned.

“Like you’re one to talk, you witch from another world,” the man retorted. “Why don’t you just give up and die? As you can see, victory or defeat, you have no future in here.”

“…”

A blunt, unimaginative provocation on the outside, the Emperor’s words nevertheless caused an unpleasant resonance within the earthling.

The immolation arrows, as well as the invisibility amulets...both high level magic items were from the arsenal of the sole non-human mage at the Imperial Court.

Of course, that person sharing her talents to the Empire’s benefit was only one minor aspect of the alliance between the races, there was nothing too surprising about Izumi having it played against her now. Rather, considering Carmelia’s status, it was inevitable.

But still—no matter how Izumi pretended not to care, the other possibility wriggled its way into her heart with the effectiveness of a poisoned arrow.

Was it only a coincidence that Yodith was the perfect counter to Tauhirn?

Iron Hide could easily withstand arrows, even sword blows—but the accursed rune of certain death didn’t need to impale the target’s vitals to be lethal. Simply leaving a mark of any kind was sufficient for the loathsome magic to completely consume its victim. Had Izumi used Tauhirn from the beginning, the rune would have slowed her movements enough for the first arrow to land.

According to predictions...?

And that wasn’t all.

The setup of invisible soldiers effectively disabled the benefits of Sifl, preventing Izumi from taking full advantage of her mobility, allowing her otherwise human foe not only to keep up with her, but to even rob her of the initiative.

No matter how she looked at it, this trap had not been designed with some unknown attacker in mind—but specifically to make her runes irrelevant and level the playground. Only one person in the world could have devised such a precise strategy.

“Tch...”

Izumi had tried to act like it didn’t matter.

That she was ultimately only here for herself, for her own reasons.

That no matter what they threw against her, she would find a way.

Yet...that one thought appeared to sap strength from her limbs.

What’s wrong with me…!? I didn’t come here with a resolve this weak...!

Izumi forced the Emperor’s sword aside, and swung the Amygla in a horizontal sweep. The wide blade hit nothing but air. The moment she had started to move, the man abandoned the confrontation and ran away, cowering. Shamelessly turning his back in a duel—he fought like a stage actor, not a soldier. But under the conditions, his skill was irrelevant.

With a quick dash, Izumi could have cut him down from behind—but her pursuit was denied by another arrow coming at her from her blind spot. She couldn't leave her rear unchecked even for a moment.

If things continued like this, it would only be a matter of time, before she slipped up and took a hit. And in this game, even that one hit would mean instant, irreversible game over.

Then, was it completely hopeless for her?

No. It's not enough.

Itaka Izumi would not have gotten this far in life, if this were all it took to bring her down.

Her wrath, her resentment, her fears, her doubts, her despair, all of that became absorbed and converted into ice-cold fuel for the primal desire to win, to betray the expectations.

By this point, Izumi’s simulated combat experience had become sufficiently complemented by real life practice. Throwing away her human concerns, her mind cleared, becoming like that of a machine, a beast, seeking only the path to devour her prey, and nothing else.

In every boss fight, there was a pattern, and those patterns were what she had grown accustomed to seek. The enemy had failed to kill her with the first exchange, even the second, and by the third contact, a “pattern” had been formed...

Suppressing her impatience, giving up on chasing the main target, Izumi awaited the follow-up. Although Sifl’s effectiveness had been restricted, even the deadly arrow’s flight at 160 miles per hour looked to her no different from being thrown with an eraser in the classroom. As soon as her eyes observed the trajectory, her hands moved accordingly, and the dart aimed at her throat was deftly parried.

The enchanted arrowhead forged of tempered dimeritium was a menace to mages, even to daemons—but the unnamed metal forced into the shape of a sword by ancient blacksmiths received it without the faintest scratch.

The parry wasn't executed blindly.

After already receiving two attacks of this type, Izumi was ready to up the stakes.

Parrying the arrow with an angle, she redirected it across the aisle.

On the other side of the room, that hateful shaft clashed with an invisible obstacle.

“AAAAAEEEEEEHHHH—!”

That invisible object was at once rendered plain to the naked eye, as an explosion of pure green flames swallowed it. The arrow had only crazed the knight’s shoulder, but nothing more was needed. His life burned away in a brilliant blaze, the dance of his morbid pyre eerily reflected in the onyx slabs comprising the Imperial throne. The echo of his horrifying death cry resounded in the ears of the witnesses, shaking their hearts, no matter how hardened. Even the Emperor averted his face, stunned by the macabre light show.

His first and last mistake.

In those few seconds of respite, the flow of combat was reversed.

Izumi opened her eyes.

Osil. Augmenting her vision with the rune of perception, she located the targets hiding in the room.

The magic surrounding the Emperor’s guards was powerful enough to prevent her from clearly observing their form—but compared to the otherwise highly defined textures of the hall, the vague, misty spots in her enhanced field of vision indicated their positioning all the same.

Kill the minions before engaging the boss—this elementary game tactic in her mind, Izumi set about to dismantling the trap.

It had been the Emperor’s role to lock her in combat and prevent her from going after the archers, while they would be the ones to finish her off. It had been a carefully planned and rehearsed formation. However, even if the knights were trained professionals, their lord was not, and his one moment of faltering cost his team the ever-precious control over the fight.

Izumi left the walkway and dashed at the nearest knight to her left.

As she reached close enough, the spell’s effectiveness was reduced, and his form became partially visible to her.

“What—?” the soldier gasped.

Confident in the protection of the magic, he was caught completely off-guard.

“Gram!” Izumi recited and swung the greatsword in a wide horizontal arc. Her flesh fortified by the rune of power, the sword cleaved straight through the plate armor, above the hip, severing the poor man instantaneously in two. Barely had his helpless upper body hit the floor, when she was already on the way to the next fuzzy shape, towards the entrance.

However, there it was Izumi’s turn to get surprised.

“Eh?”

Preparing to cut down the second enemy, she was distracted by a faint flash of light beneath her feet. It was hardly brighter or larger than the notification light of a smartphone, but her magically affected optic nerves couldn’t avoid picking it up anyhow.

The source of the light was a small character drawn on the floor, on the tile she had stepped on.

The light was growing rapidly brighter.

Apparently, the enemy had anticipated even this course of events and had taken measures to prepare for it by laying runic traps all around. The knights naturally knew the placement of the magic mines and avoided them, while Izumi herself had walked right into one.

“Crap!”

Abandoning the attack, Izumi put all her strength in her legs and jumped. At the same time, the sharply brightening letter on the floor erupted into a discharge of high-voltage electromotive force. This artificial lightning bolt spread to cover an area of about six square feet, even catching the unlucky knight nearby. Without uttering a sound, he stiffened up, his invisibility dispelled, and collapsed on the spot, faint, pale smoke pouring out of the armor seams. The smell of ozone and burning flesh filled the air.

“Oops!”

Unable to control her boosted strength in the heat of the moment, Izumi jumped too high. Her feet hit the ceiling, but there was nothing there to hold onto. Sadly, levitation magic was not among the words of power engraved in the secula sonatea, and so she could only helplessly fall back down.

Although Gram was powering Izumi’s muscles, the drop of fifteen feet back onto the hard stone flooring was anything but soft. Her right shoulder and hip collided painfully with the floor as she fell on her side. If the rune hadn’t strengthened her muscles, she would have broken bones. The whole arm was numbed and her knee protested against motion, but they were still responsive.

There was no time to take a break either.

Two misty shapes were already coming for her.

In motion, the effects of the invisibility spell were somewhat reduced, allowing even one with normal vision to perceive the crystalline outline corresponding to their form. One of the foes had swapped his bow for a sword, now raised in an effort to execute the downed foe. But in this, he had misjudged both Izumi’s condition and her sight.

Quickly sitting up on her knees, sliding forward, Izumi pulled the sword from under her and cut low at the shape she judged to be the soldier’s leg. A leg it was, forcefully amputated, as the greatsword sliced its way through his thigh. With quite a contained grunt of pain, the knight lost his balance

Realizing the enemy could perceive them, the second guard gave up on close combat, and pulled back.

But Izumi wasn't about to let him escape.

Before the legless knight hit the floor, she kicked him in the side. Thrown back, the wounded slid in the feet of his comrade, knocking him over with his weight. Jumping up from the floor, Izumi turned clock-wise, drawing the sword along and sharply upward, lopping off the staggered soldier’s head while he was still in the process of falling.

Next one, where’s the next one, quickly now…!

Even while her hands delivered death, Izumi’s eyes were already looking for a new target. There was not a moment to waste. To stay alive, she had to keep a step ahead of the enemy at all times. No matter how painful it was to move, how desperately she was outnumbered, how unlikely her survival was, she had to keep fighting, even as her burdened mind and body were begging for a repose.

So that she wouldn’t have to face it.

The answer that awaited her.

Focus, focus, focus…!

A moment's careless could mean the end. In group fights, there was always a certain order by which to eliminate the enemies. The order, in which they would become a direct threat. Perceiving this and responding accordingly was the key to survival. Now which of the many eerie forms surrounding her was to be the next in line?

There, by the wall, she spotted an odd shape resembling a malformed potato sack. Izumi’s eyes were useless at identifying the foe, but her brain connected the dots—the shape was a kneeling archer, taking aim at her. The distance was at least twenty feet. Even with Sifl, she wouldn’t reach him in time.

The bowstring was released.

The dice were rolling. Yet again, the gamble with death was on. As the arrow left its owner, it was rendered visible to her, but the time left to react by that point was ridiculously short. Survival was a matter of luck.

Izumi crouched and raised the sword before her face. Even a perfect parry might mean death. Would the arrow scrape her fingers? Would it brush past her ear? Would it hit the ceiling and drop back on her? The dangers were countless.

Dang. The contact was deceptively light compared to the risks it carried. But Izumi survived yet another round of this Russian roulette. The death bolt whistled as it recoiled upward and behind her.

She responded with her own. Lifting the Amygla, Izumi threw it like a javelin. The way Waramoti had done.

“Haa—!”

That oversized dart might have been slower than an arrow, but no less deadly with the magical effects driving it. Crossing the room in a flash, it impaled the neck of the crouching archer, throwing him against the wall, dead in an instant.

Sorry, I didn’t take good care of it.

Izumi had sacrificed her weapon, but her ability never depended on it.

She glanced behind. More phantasmal knights were preparing to shoot at her across the central passage. The formerly empty-looking Throne Room turned out to have been quite crowded. The distances were too great to reach them on foot, and Izumi was out of ammunition.

Or not quite.

Relying on her enhanced strength, Izumi quickly grabbed one of the downed knights by the leg and threw him sliding across the floor, towards the fuzzy figures.

Of course, even with Gram's power behind the throw, the knight’s body was rather ineffective as a weapon. At best, she had hoped it would distract the archers for long enough to let her get closer.

But this improvised weapon turned out far more effective than she had anticipated.

As the body of the knight swept over the floor, several bright letters drawn on the tiles lit up in its wake. There was no way the knights themselves would step on the traps—if they had a choice, that is.

“Watch out!” Warning cries rang out.

Too late.

Shortly, a series of fiery explosions ravaged the Throne Room as multiple rune traps were activated in quick succession. Whoever had planted them had been quite creative. They weren’t all simple lightning traps. There were fire traps, pressure traps, shrapnel traps, and various other bizarre magical mechanisms included.

A number of pillars along the central walkway were burst by the pressure of the explosions, chunks of marble flying around. The shockwaves traveled across the space, rebounding from the walls, smiting everyone present, leaving them dumb and deafened. Though she had stood further away, even Izumi got thrown off her feet by one such blast, and was sent sliding towards the wall on the other side.

And as she did, more runes on the black stone tiles became unwittingly triggered by her contact.

“Hey, hey, ever heard of holding back—!?”

The devastating chain reaction showed no signs of stopping.

Other guards, who had been knocked out of balance by the initial series of explosions ended up causing similar accidents everywhere around. More flashy balls of fire erupted out of nothing. Loud crackling of electricity could be heard, vibrant arc discharge lighting up the smoking room here and there. Somewhere else, phantom weapons shot up from the floor, breaking holes in the ceiling and impaling anyone unlucky enough to be caught in the way. An out-of-nowhere hole in the very air sucked in one wretched soul, to who knows what abominable abyss.

Suddenly, the orderly battle arena had fallen into a state of complete chaos, reduced to an indiscriminate slaughterhouse of magical effects, where the abhorrent cries of pain and fear accompanied the havoc, together with the sobbing and moaning of the injured.

It was only well after the noise had died down and nothing more was breaking or dying, that the Emperor let go of his ears and emerged from his hiding spot behind one of the toppled pillars. On the untrapped central walkway, he had survived the magical carpet bombing, though not entirely unharmed. He was covered in stone dust all around, dazed, his ears ringing, a bleeding cut above his brow. He surveyed the room around him, which had formerly represented Imperial splendor, but now looked more like Rome after the visit of the Huns.

Everywhere he looked, he saw only blood and broken bodies amid scattered debris, ash, and unnatural flames. Abandoned, twisted weapons. Dismembered limbs and clots of brightly colored things that were not meant to be seen outside illustrated scholarly journals on human anatomy.

Dead, dying, and critically wounded.

Not a soul beside him standing.

How could such a thing happen?

He couldn’t understand.

What he was looking at couldn’t be called a “battle” anymore.

Then, something else moved in the aftermath.

The Emperor turned around to see someone struggle up from a mound of corpses and debris. A woman—no, a creature of inhuman, dark and inorganic countenance. From the devastation which had reduced his elite guard into battered pulp, that thing emerged, not only alive but seemingly having incurred no visible harm whatsoever.

“How…?” he gasped. “Why won’t you die!?”

Straightening her back, Izumi coughed a bit, then puffed her chest, leaning on the sword she had reclaimed during the chaos.

“Nanomachines, son!” she cheerfully exclaimed. “Kidding. Just wanted to say that.”

“And you still call yourself human!?” the Emperor shouted at her. “Who could look at this scene and still think you are on the side of justice!? You monster!”

“Now, now, don’t be a bad loser,” Izumi waved at him. “I didn’t set up this bullcrap and I think I gave you the option to quit while you were ahead too.”

The Emperor gripped his sword, his eyes squeezed shut. His hands were trembling. Looking at him, the earlier pity she had felt returned to Izumi.

“You know,” she said, brushing dust off her hair, “I don’t really mind if you wanna surrender now. I’m still alive, and looking back, that was kind of fun, so if you just apologize for your evil words and deeds, I can—”

“I haven’t lost yet!” the man suddenly exclaimed. With a grimace, he threw aside his terror and dashed at Izumi. Though rather than bravery, it was probably better called blindness. “I can’t! Not like this…!”

Gathering his determination, he cut down at the woman. She lightly received his sword with her own, one-handed, like in a Sunday game of badminton. Again and again, he continued to strike at her, but there was obviously no way he could match her unnatural swiftness or strength.

“Come on now,” Izumi told him, without striking back. “This is starting to look like plain old bullying.”

“This is my world!” he shouted back at her. “I was here first! I’m not giving it to you!”

The Emperor gathered all his might for an overhead strike. Simultaneously, Izumi cut upward with a backhanded motion. Bent in a clean V-shape, the shortsword was knocked from the man’s hands and sent flying back. Gritting his teeth, enduring the pain in his fingers, he swung a punch at the woman. In the face, in the gut. But with Tauhirn still active, Izumi endured the hits without much of a reaction.

“Arrrhgg...” the man recoiled, groaning, and cradled his right fist, a knuckle badly broken and bleeding.

“Man, that might leave a mark,” Izumi told him, wiping his blood off her cheek.

Fighting the agony, the man tried to kick her in the groin. Izumi was faster and responded by kicking his leg to the side. Losing his balance, he dropped onto the floor on all fours, panting.

“Give it up,” she said. “Take the hint, man. I’m starting to get kind of annoyed, so knock it off already. The show’s over. I thought you didn’t want to die? I’m telling you, walk away, and nobody else needs to—”

Not listening, the Emperor saw something on the floor beside him. It was one of the magic arrows, scattered in the explosion. The shaft was broken in half, but the arrowhead remained intact. Now seizing it, he quickly rose up, and stabbed at the woman.

Just one scratch, one tiny poke anywhere, and he could still win.

Such had been his intention.

But there was no way Izumi hadn’t noticed the arrow from her position.

Would he take it, would he not—she had been waiting to see the answer.

And the moment he went down that path, the capital sentence fell on him.

“I’m not a total Gandhi, all right,” the woman murmured with a scowl.

Eleven inches of metal through his shoulder, by the base of the neck, the man’s arm stopped responding to his brain’s desperate commands. With a click, the arrow fell onto the floor, unused.

Surprisingly, he didn’t feel much pain. All he felt was cold.

The sword embedded in his body was like made of ice.

He tried to say something. He didn’t know what. He simply had to say something, so that his last words in this world wouldn’t end up being only forgettable rubbish. Instead of audible speech, blood spilled through his lips. It slightly warmed his chest, seeping through the shirt. He coughed, unable to breathe. Sensing dreadful powerlessness fill him, he urged himself to lift his face. He had to look up, in the eyes of his killer. Instead of up, however, he ended up looking down. Down, as he fell. Shortly after his forehead hit the cold stone floor, an inescapable, yet also mysteriously soothing darkness overtook him.

And the man was gone.

Pulling the sword off, Izumi leaned on the weapon for a moment, staring at the body as blood pooled under it. She wasn’t thinking about anything in particular. She felt no remorse either. The emptiness she had felt before the fight was still there, that's all. After all the fervor before, her brain had come to a sudden stop.

It was odd.

After all the people she had killed in this world, she had never felt quite the same way before.

Killing was never pleasant, certainly.

It was only a necessity, a method of survival, of reaching a goal of particular importance.

But what had she reached today?

Was this really a battle she chose of her own will?

A fight for survival? A fight to save someone?

Had it really been—necessary?

Izumi breathed deep, calming herself, trying to come to terms with everything that had happened.

And at that moment, a door was opened.

5

In the back end, one of the side doors of the Throne Room was abruptly opened. Izumi raised her head, throwing aside her earlier reflections, alert once again. More enemies?

But instead of reinforcements, only a rather unexpected person walked in.

It was a young man in an attire resembling an otherworldly reporter of old, white shirt, black trousers, a matte black vest—his light leather shoes sparkling clean. His short, black hair was carefully combed, his youthful face clean shaven. On his nose were a pair of thick-rimmed glasses that gave him an intellectual air. Over his usual attire, he now wore a formal-looking black coat that changed the air about him somewhat.

True, Izumi had expected to see him again. But not so soon.

Not in such a place.

At such a time.

“Ben…?” she named the youth. “Lia?”

In the wake of the man followed the elven Court Wizard, Izumi’s quest-giver, Carmelia. Seeing her now again, the cirelo’s royal inheritance was painfully obvious on her countenance. In her upright, dignified posture, not in the slightest bit forced or tense; her soundless steps, evenly paced, disturbing not a speck of dust in her presence; in her flawless beauty, enthralling yet fearsome, bearing the mask of composed neutrality, even amid all the mindless butchery.

But wasn’t their order of appearance a bit strange?

“Wow, what a show,” the young man remarked, surveying the devastated room around him, as he walked on with casual lightness. “For a moment there, I had no idea how it would pan out. But looks like you were victorious, once again. Congratulations, Izumi.”

Without a hint of shame or reservation, Benjamin Watts went on to climb the wide stairs in the back and dropped his ass onto the Onyx Throne, relaxedly leaning on his elbow and crossing his feet. So comfortable and at home he looked on that gaudy seat that Izumi was thrown for a loop.

Meanwhile, the Court Wizard—the woman who should have been the High Queen of her people—modestly took her place a few steps lower, on the left side of the Throne.

Looking at the pair, as if they had suddenly become strangers to her, Izumi thought her brain was going to short-circuit.

“Ben…?”

“Yes, I believe the time has now come,” the man said. “Allow me to formally introduce myself. Án Serim Eleya Bia Mavase; such was the name my mother gave me. But these days, I am better known by my other name—Mayeshwal III. I know well your struggles with pronunciation, so you can just call me, ‘your majesty’.”

“...What?” Izumi forgot even to breathe. “You are...?”

“Oh, don’t take me for some lowly usurper or a common schemer. This chair is mine by birthright, and this Empire knows no other sovereign but I. In my veins flows the blood of the rightful dynasty, starting from the days of Telios. That is who I am.”

Izumi glanced at Carmelia in turn.

The sorceress remained still, eyes closed, as if not even paying attention to the outrageous conversation. But her silence said enough.

“I know,” the youth continued. “‘Who was Benjamin Watts then?’ Did such a man ever even exist? He did, no doubt about that. Summoned by Lord Gwanlyn, at my request, he appeared in this world two months before you did, just as you were told. I was curious to see what these prophesied ‘champions from another world’ were like. And, as for his current whereabouts—he would, of course, be the sorry carcass lying there at your feet.”

Izumi looked down, at the bloodied body of the man who had gone around presenting himself as the Emperor for the past week.

“Apparently, he was something called a ‘sales manager’ in your world. He lost his family and all his fortune in some kind of an economical collapse, and ended up a homeless nobody. Wholly unskilled with the sword, unable to cast magic, not very strong either, he seemed quite useless to me at first. I suppose these champions were not all what they were made out to be. But, in retrospect, his life did serve a purpose. ‘A battle between two summoned champions’! Never has anyone witnessed such a spectacle before! By the Gods, was it worth it.”

There were a lot of questions going through Izumi’s head at the moment, all at once, but she ended up distilling them into the easiest one.

“Why…?”

“Why indeed,” the Emperor replied. “At first, I prepared this reversal of roles merely as an amusing little play, to get an edge over the princess and mess with her for a bit. Since I only ascended a few years ago, she should have had no idea what I looked like. But then, you came around.”

“Me?” Izumi asked.

“That’s right. On the night of your arrival, you, a nobody out of nowhere, made a complete ass out of my finest warriors. It was then that a staggering idea dawned on me. I would use you to weed out the rebellious elements within my own regime. Ever since I took the Throne, I’ve had a great many enemies, leftovers from my father’s reign, who have been dissatisfied with my rule. Even in the Guild, which should be absolutely loyal and obedient, there were certain individuals, who harbored nothing short of an uprising. But I couldn’t openly arrest and execute those the public worships as ‘heroes’, could I? No, it was far too dangerous for me to oppose them directly. But, if someone else, an outsider, happened to take care of them on my behalf, it would not only protect my reputation but outright give it a massive boost. And what started out as a wild experiment bore a resounding success. All thanks to you.”

“You mean...the Circle of whatever was just a lie?” Izumi asked. “You planned all those ‘missions’ yourself, to your own benefit?”

“Not quite,” his majesty replied. “The Circle of Pale Ashes does exist. Just, they’re not against me, but...with me. Their interests happen to align with my own: in the Empire’s global triumph. But it’s true that I was the one who designed your menu for the week, merely borrowing their name. And you exceeded my expectations every step of the way. Not only are the most troublesome warriors of the Guild all dead now, you also helped me lure out and trap the rotten apples in the Stohenkartes. Even better, you gave me a way to get rid of that old bag De la Cartá, whose printing machines and sermons have tirelessly spewed propaganda against me. How kind of you to take the blame for that!”

Without a word, Izumi looked down, letting the underlying purpose of her past week’s actions sink in.

“I suppose no small part of the credit goes to the dead guy.” As she remained silent, the true Emperor went on. “He did a splendid job, all in all. Who would’ve thought, if only you give a random bum a bath and a shave, you get a passable emperor? Sure, he could be a bit difficult and stubborn at times, but men like him are ultimately simple to control. I merely told him, ‘I will kill the princess and feed you the pieces’, and he got quite co-operative after that. Even though he no doubt foresaw his fate. Of course, I had everyone at the court swear a gias not to reveal a word of the plot. So don’t blame him too much for not confiding in you.”

Feeling sick, Izumi recalled the man’s final moments.

“Of course you couldn’t walk away...” she mouthed. “It seems I really have been the idiot here.”

“Tell me,” Mayeshwal III asked, “did you truly never suspect either of us as not being what we seemed? I suppose I’m expecting too much from a commoner's eye, but—damn. Never?”

“No,” Izumi admitted, looking at Carmelia’s stoic figure. “I did think there was something fishy going on. But it didn't matter. Since I gave my word.”

“Is that it?” he gave her a questioning look. “So you did have something vaguely resembling honor to you, after all? Speaking of which, boy, did you give me a scare, suddenly running off to save Marafel! She was supposed to burn, no matter what! Had we ran into each other by accident at the Keep, the whole trick would’ve been exposed! Thankfully, her condition remains poor. And I shall make sure she never opens her eyes again.”

“...Got all the bases covered, huh?”

“Of course? This much is nothing for a man of my level. But really, the simplicity of your character is a big relief. After everything I learned from you, I admit I grew a bit anxious for a while. If the people of your world somehow gained a stable access to ours, they would conquer us in a day! After all, your level of technology, military strength, and numbers all exceed us by far. But, it seems that regardless of the cleverness of the select few, the vast majority of your kind remains as brainless simpletons no different from the foolish masses we have over here. Your politicians' insistence on handing the decision-making power to the common people, who in turn are unable to accept leadership based on competence and merit—surely you will destroy yourselves long before finding a way to connect our realms.”

“You think?”

“Now that we’re on this topic,” the Emperor added, “did this ever strike you as odd since you came to this world? How come we are so far behind you? We, the people of Ortho, have thirty thousand years of recorded history behind us, since the dawn of the Covenant, and you don’t see us shooting rockets into outer space or building computers. How were you able to achieve so much more in a much shorter period of time? Isn’t that mysterious?”

“You mean to say there is a reason?” Izumi asked.

“There is,” he answered. “The Covenant.”

“What do you mean? Isn't that the thing which keeps this world alive?”

“Nobody ever told you this? I suppose it’s largely theoretical. It’s been a thousand years since the last ritual, whatever little we knew about it has been lost in time. Or is that all? After spending a great deal of time studying this subject and the materials gained from the elves, I believe I’ve found the true answer. The very Covenant, which revives our planet from the precipice of ruin—is also what keeps us from growing beyond it. How can that be? The answer comes clear. Because on the Night of the Covenant, once every thousand years, our planet isn’t somehow blown full of life again by the reigning champion, as if it were a leaking balloon. It’s remade.”

“Remade…?” Izumi repeated with a frown.

“Precisely,” the Emperor nodded. “Whoever conquers the Trophaeum obtains the chance to rewrite the world itself, using the old one for a template. I imagine they are able to do whatever they please within a certain pre-established ruleset. Assign limitations to technology, to population, reshape geography, outright delete entire races from existence...Get the picture? That is the actual meaning of the ‘god-like power’ the myths speak of. Being simple warriors, the winners of the past probably didn’t have much of an imagination, or left any profound changes. But even if they did, we’d have no way of knowing it. Their whims would become our new reality, accepted without question. Perhaps one of the former champions saw mankind’s growth as a threat, and simply because of that, we are forever doomed to the role of unsophisticated underdogs. Beyond this, the Covenant system protects itself by erasing people’s awareness of it each time it is used, forcing us to rediscover the same things again and again.”

“Entire races could be deleted...” Izumi said. “If that’s possible, does that mean new ones could be made as well…?”

“Ah, you’re catching on,” the Emperor flashed a cold smile. “Indeed. This is what I meant to tell you before. Why no daemons were observed in the previous cycles, it must be probably because none existed. They were brought into being through the power of the Covenant. What for? As a punishment for our misdeeds? As revenge? Because the previous champion hated the world so and wanted us to suffer? Well, your guess is as good as mine.”

“Then,” Izumi suggested, “the easiest way to defeat all the daemons would be to delete them the same way? By using the Tower?”

“Possibly, yes,” the man shrugged. “This is ultimately only my theory and I have not much proof to show for it. But, even if this were the case, why should we?”

“What?” Izumi stared at him in surprise.

“Remember the prophecy?” The Emperor asked her. “A summoned champion will break the Covenant and bring about the Age of Chaos. And all we’ve built is destined to fall to ruin. As far as I can see, the best solution to this rather significant problem is—to do nothing. Rather than working for such a hazardous goal, hoping our fate could somehow be diverted, we should be actively keeping people from it.”

“But if no one conquers the Tower, then the world’s going to end, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” he replied. “But it won’t happen in a year or two. The decay of a planet will likely be a process lasting thousands if not millions of years. I won’t be alive there to see it. On the other hand, if someone does use the Covenant again, they might rewrite humanity out of existence altogether. Therefore, what incentive do I—or anyone—have to let such a dangerous ritual take place? No, it is my Imperial decree, that not a soul will be allowed to approach the Tower of Destiny. Fortunately, the daemons are doing an impeccable job at guarding the place. So long as they’re there, no one will get anywhere close. Yet another reason to preserve their existence.”

“And Lia?” Izumi asked the sorceress. “Are you fine with such a plan? Don’t you want to take back your homeland? You’re going to live longer than any of us, there’s a real chance that you’ll see the end of the world. And you’re all right with that?”

But Carmelia only replied.

“All things must end one day.”

A momentary silence fell in the Throne Room. Then, Izumi raised her voice once more.

“I’m probably wasting my time asking this, but what were you planning to do with Yule?”

“The princess?” Mayeshwal III replied. “Oh, nothing much. Ultimately, the talks about the Langorian harbors and fleets and whatnot were only something I made up on the spot, to give my ‘double’ something to think about. Seriously, negotiate with them? Looking at her highness, does it seem to you like Langorians are capable of rational thought? Please! I shall have all that they own. After I burn the rabble out of the way. The princess was to be used to provoke their first strike, to justify the campaign to the public. Well, that was at first.”

“At first?”

“Yes,” the Emperor continued with an unpleasant grin. “After meeting her highness in person, I changed my mind. I prepared something else for her. A contract, that I had that fool present as a gias of co-operation. It was a gias in appearance only. Woven between the lines was another spell, a charm. Not quite as powerful or lasting as a gias, but more convenient for me. Whereas a gias expects full awareness and voluntary agreement to the terms of the oath, a curse like this can be inflicted only with a signature. And from the moment of the contract's signing, the princess would have lived and died only for me, trapped by her lust, thinking of little else. Shame, it was there that my puppet decided to grow balls and destroyed the contract. Well, who can blame him? Aren’t we all equally enamoured by her highness? Even without much of a brain, her body is certainly nice.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Izumi sighed. “You were that guy’s boss, after all...”

“Hm? Whatever. Any other questions left? If not, will you answer one for me instead? ‘New York, 1930’...I heard your people measure time from the day some man they called a ‘Messiah’ was born? That this man was destined to be a king, and formed a pact with a god, then dying to bring salvation to humankind? Have you heard of him? Did that really happen?”

“Beats me,” Izumi replied. “I’m not a Christian.”

“I see. Well, what a senseless fable,” the Emperor smirked. “But, be it true or not, maybe we should learn from the example of that man? After all, for this world, I am something of a Messiah now. The chosen king, who will save mankind from demise and obscurity...and live to tell the tale.”

Izumi said nothing, unable to hide her disgust.

“Anyway, thank you for all this,” the Emperor told her, clasping his hands. “It was a good chance to practice, since I have to explain all this again to the princess. Can’t wait to see the look on her face. That girl, all her feelings just show right on her face; a fatal flaw for a monarch. Your reaction, on the other hand, is somewhat...tame. Like, is anybody home?”

“Sorry,” Izumi told him. “But you’re not a cute girl, so your betrayal didn't really mean much to me.”

His majesty’s expression clouded.

“That so? Then, having played your part, it's about time you left the stage.”

Snapping his fingers, a self-content smile returning on his face, the Emperor gave the order.

“Carmelia. Finish her.”

Izumi didn’t move.

She thought not about running or fighting.

There was no way out.

No meaning in even trying.

She had given her life to the sorceress, handed it on a silver platter, and this was the result.

The possibility of this miserable outcome had occurred to her, yes. And she had accepted it. It was a cost that couldn’t be avoided, in exchange for the powers that had allowed her to survive until this moment. Such was the path she had choseb, and this was as far as it would take her. No matter where Izumi would run, the runes carved on her back would follow. Who was to say there wasn’t a specific combination of words written onto her spirit, a kill-switch to shut her down, after she was done with her duty.

Not that a master of magic needed such tricks. That thousand-year-old sorceress could probably annihilate her with a word, and there was no way for Izumi to avoid or counter it. The limitations set on her arc were most likely planned with this very outcome in mind.

Therefore, all Izumi could do was accept her end.

It was a particularly poor end, but what could she do? She couldn't allow herself to have regrets. Therefore, only lightly sighing, she held onto her sword and patiently waited for death, in whatever strange, unpredictable shape it should come.

And waited.

However…

Time passed, but no incantations were spoken.

The Court Wizard uttered not a word, made no move, but simply stood where she was, as if she had turned into a life-sized figurine. Was this part of some bizarre ritual? Apparently not. Even the Emperor was starting to look uncomfortable, frowning at his magic counselor.

“...Carmelia?” he finally asked. “What are you waiting for?”

The sorceress could hold her poker face no more.

A faint smile spread across Carmelia's lips as she patiently answered,

“Why, the job remains unfinished. I tasked this woman to kill the Emperor. It seems there has been a slight misunderstanding, but no need for concern: there is still some time to take corrective measures.”

“……….”

“………...”

His majesty’s face fell.

6

Upstairs from the Throne Room, up and up, floor after floor, the ruler of the Empire escaped his foe, eventually emerging on a terrace at the top of the dome, above the central palace. Knowing he would find no safety there, but lacking any other way out, he climbed over the railing and attempted to cautiously skim down the curving roof. And partway was successful. However, the continuous rain had rendered the metal-plated roof treacherously slippery, and the descent turned unpredictably steep towards the end, causing his majesty to slip up.

Like this, he fell over the edge of the dome and onto the roof of the palace wing extending some twenty-five feet below. Although the drop was not deadly, his shinbone went and snapped by the landing, leaving the man lying crippled on the precarious platform. There he should have been outside the reach of conventional pursuit nevertheless, but conventional was not his pursuer.

Without much of a hurry, Izumi followed him the same way, enduring the controlled drop unharmed, with the rune of strength fortifying her musculature.

The Emperor found himself cornered on the ridge across the roof, with a steeply slanted slide of roughly sixty feet on both sides, a fatal fall over the edge to follow—and behind his back, only the uncovered end of the edifice, with a dive even more dramatic and no less deadly to a man of mortal composition. It was only by growing wings that one could have escaped such a predicament, and this was not within his power.

Thunder roared, illuminating the callous spires of Selenoreion around that paid mute witness to this confrontation. Had a storm this hideous ever been seen before in the City of Lords?

Backing away before the unhurried advance of his nemesis, Mayeshwal III eventually had no alternative but to admit the impossibility of his escape. Therefore, he turned his attention back at the assassin, judging her to be the weakest link in this chain of unsympathetic physical elements.

Izumi walked grimly on, raising her blade.

Defiantly glaring at her, as if the thought of his demise was still utterly inconceivable to him, his majesty shouted while retreating,

“Fool! You cannot slay me! I am the Lord of Lords, the master of all Noertia! I am the sole ray of hope that brings light to the darkness of this world! The future of mankind rests upon my shoulders! Without me to unite them, all the nations and all the races will drift apart, unable to achieve anything of worth! Our world will be plunged into the endless darkness of the Age of Chaos, whence there’s no return! I and only I have the power and wisdom to keep this from happening! Kill me here and you will have only doomed all those who you love and cherish!”

So he boldly argued his case, convinced that justice and reason was on his side.

Determined that his nigh divine nobility would still save him.

Then, how responded his accuser?

What said Itaka Izumi, the human from planet Earth, after everything she had seen and been through, feeling the weight of her raised sword on her arm, the lives she had claimed on her soul, the fatigue from the past week’s battles on her shoulders?

——“I DON’T CARE!”

And so, as frequently happened, another page of history was turned with a swift plunge of metal.

Epilogue

1

As reaching the Imperial Palace proved absolutely impossible for her, by forces she could not understand, princess Yuliana wearily returned back to her chambers, the only safe place she knew. There, without a word, she freed the maids she had imprisoned, and spent the following moments seated on the bed, staring languidly into nothingness, wallowing in bottomless apathy. Her prisoners were momentarily confused by her unexpected return, wearing maids’ clothing, and questioned her intentions and sanity. Then, receiving no answers, they eventually took pity on her, and made the girl some tea.

Thusly, the princess’s night slowly passed, without much sleep.

In those dark hours, everything seemed completely bleak and hopeless to her.

In a word, meaningless.

However, her blue season did not continue for very long.

At some point in the early hours of the new day, the maids returned to her.

“Your highness,” Tilfa said. “Your presence is being requested.”

“My presence?” Yuliana slowly raised her face. “Why? By who?”

“Such things were not shared with us and neither did we ask,” Hila said. “All we know is that they want you at the Palace.”

But I can’t even go anywhere near it.

“If that’s what his majesty wishes...” Replying without much energy, not bothering to argue or explain herself, Yuliana got up to her feet and followed after the maids. Even if she were struck dead on the way, it didn’t matter. At least then she would be free.

No one spoke a word the whole way.

Yuliana paid no attention to her surroundings, as various theories on the reasons for her summoning coursed through her mind. Had Izumi been captured? Did the Emperor want her to see his moment of triumph? Or had both lost their lives in the cruel conflict, and her account as a witness was wanted? Or had some different, even more unexpected development taken place? She couldn’t imagine. Depressed and unwilling, she climbed the endless stairs after the maids.

As they neared the front entrance, Yuliana braced herself for the onslaught of unspeakable pain. However, to her mystery, she felt in no way different from the usual even as they passed through the turquoise gate. There was no agony, not even a hint of it. Her entry to the Palace was no longer being prohibited by the powers binding her soul. As if those powers had altogether ceased to be.

Yuliana’s confusion only deepened as they passed through the Azure Hall, to their destination in the room beyond, where a most unexpected sight awaited her.

In the nexus hall before the Throne Room, numerous unknown people had gathered. There were military officers, people who looked like lawyers, scholars, attendants, and high-ranking officials of the court. Guards there were, to preserve order, as well as court magicians, to ensure nothing fishy was going on.

In that crowd, Yuliana's attention was drawn to the tall elven woman she had met before.

Indeed, the maids led the princess straight to Carmelia, who greeted her with a soft smile.

“My apologies for the late timing, your highness,” the Court Wizard said, “but matters such as these rarely ask for our convenience. And I felt it appropriate that you should be here. After all, though you hail from another land, you cannot be called merely an outsider in this situation.”

“Excuse me, but what is that situation?” Yuliana asked. “What has happened?”

Clang—!

At that moment, the two were interrupted by a door opening on the left.

Yuliana gasped, as she recognized the person coming in.

“Master!?”

Through the doorway, escorted by two servants, leaning heavily on a crutch as she walked, was the former Colonel of the Imperial army, Miragrave Marafel, still alive after her death sentence and the following harrowing escape. Many heads were turned by her unexpected appearance.

“It is much too early for you to be walking around,” Carmelia told the woman in a somewhat scolding tone.

“As if I could play sick, at a time like this,” Miragrave replied. Though her face was pale and tired, speaking of great pain underneath, the usual willful light burned in her eyes uninterrupted. “Is it true, what they say? I’m not being played for a fool, am I?”

“It is true,” the sorceress nodded. “His majesty is dead.”

“Eh?” Yuliana couldn’t hide her shock at the news.

“One would be hard-pressed to find a soul genuinely remorseful for the fact, but such is the truth of the matter,” Carmelia continued. “But the world is not ending just yet, and we must now answer the question of what comes after.”

“There’ll be no tears from me, that is for certain,” Miragrave said, “but those are heavy boots his successor must fill. Who is to take his place? He did a thorough job at eliminating his siblings, who had any hope of overthrowing him. Is there anyone left in the world with a lawful claim? Or is competence to be the deciding factor? Will a revolution be declared, with one of the Generals to seize the Throne?”

“In this matter, the Circle has certain preferences,” Carmelia replied. “I suspect that anyone affiliated with the old regime would not be acceptable in the eyes of our alliance. Coincidentally, it appears that the local Board of Generals has been disbanded in the recent hours, a great many officials resigning of their own accord. What a troubling situation this has become. In my role as an emissary, I would recommend that the aspect of racial co-operation should be considered a priority in the shaping of the new government. In that vein, I would deem that starting from a clean slate would be preferable in choosing his majesty’s successor.”

“I see that you wasted no time taking the reins,” the Colonel said with a scowl. “If that is how far you have gone to level the playground, then why not simply name your candidate outright?”

“Now, now. I merely represent the interests of the Circle,” Carmelia diplomatically responded, closing her eyes. “I would not want to be accused of meddling in humans’ internal affairs. I can merely give advice and voice my educated opinions. The resolution itself must ultimately be one that you humans reach of your own accord.”

“And you still wonder why we say, ‘elves have a thousand faces’?” Miragrave sighed. “His majesty’s death may have rid us of a tyrant, but it’s also left us at the mercy of your machinations. Can’t say I ever liked the idea, but now that it’s come to this, we don’t have a choice but to play along, do we?”

“Your prideful character shows you a woman of your country,” the Court Wizard told her. “But it would be wise to be mindful of what is at stake. Pride is not something any of us can afford at this stage.”

Understanding her meaning, Miragrave begrudgingly set aside her complaints and gestured to one of the men standing further away. It was an Imperial official dressed in a black-and-white attire, carrying a large tome under his arm. That elderly man was the chief legal advisor of the palace, named Alevin. The book in his clutches was, of course, nothing other but the Law, to be readily referenced in the event of a debate.

“Who is the next in line of succession?” Miragrave asked him.

“I can’t begin to count how many times I’ve been asked that tonight,” the man exhaled a helpless sigh. “And the short answer is: I have no fucking idea. After all these assassinations, arrests, exiles, disappearances, and record-manipulation that’s been going on in the recent years, I can’t tell who’s who anymore! By the way, were you not executed earlier this week, Marafel? Oh my, I’m beginning to feel dizzy...”

“I’m quite positive I feel several orders of a magnitude worse than you do, but now’s no time to lie down. We must have a sound solution to present to the public by sunrise, before the citizens draw their own conclusions and we have an uprising in our hands. Do we have any legal grounds to appoint a successor to the Throne outside of the hereditary order?”

“Well, there are laws by which the military can temporarily assume control of the government, helmed by the Field Marshal, but the rank of Field Marshal was abolished in 605, and the Board of Generals has apparently dissolved mere moments ago. Right now, the highest-ranking person I know, who still hasn't resigned or died under mysterious circumstances, is the baker who lives next door from me. We’d need an emperor to appoint new generals, and generals to manage matters until an emperor can be found, which is all backwards and doesn’t make any sense—”

—“Anything else? Someone who is not affiliated with the military or the previous regime?”

“...N-no,” Alevin stuttered. “I don’t know. You must understand, situations like this are exceedingly rare. Usually, when an emperor is killed, the culprit is the next one in the line of succession, and there is no need for all these special arrangements!”

“Think of something,” Miragrave urged him. “It doesn’t have to be strictly legal, so long as it can be rationalized in a way the public can accept. We can’t afford to lose our internal integrity now.”

“I...Well, there is one article that stuck to my mind over the years,” the official pondered. “I was quite fascinated by it when I was still a student at the Academy. In Tratovia, strength is everything, as they say, and this law is the very embodiment of that principle. It is an ancient custom, hundreds of years old, which says that if someone were to challenge the reigning Emperor to single combat, and bests him in fair feats of arms, that person will then have the right to the Throne. The law hasn’t been referenced in centuries, but has never been abolished either, so far as I know. I believe the public could accept this manner of a simplified solution. But, of course, the challenger cannot be a simple layman either, but must be of noble heritage...”

Miragrave glanced at Carmelia. “...Not going to work.”

“Yes,” the sorceress replied with a smile. “I believe that person would not only be unsuited to rule, but entirely unwilling.”

From the cirelo, Miragrave’s gaze shifted to Yuliana, who followed the whole conversation with an expression speaking of a struggle deep on the borders of comprehension.

Looking at the young girl, a light of realization appeared in Miragrave’s green eyes.

“...Yes,” the former Colonel slowly said. “Now that I recall, I have heard of such a law myself. Moreover, I have heard of another convention similar and not much younger. Accordingly, the achievements of a servant can be attributed to the master. And it has not been uncommon for declining monarchies to invite royal blood from another land.”

At her words, the Court Wizard’s smile widened.

“I believe we have found a candidate the Circle can approve.”

“Excuse me,” Yuliana could cope with her confusion and their strange looks no longer and interjected. “Master, Lady Carmelia, could someone please explain to me in plain words what is going on in here? Your words make very little sense to me.”

“Yes,” Carmelia turned to the girl with motherly warmth on her countenance, “I believe the time has come for me to keep my word. Why don’t we look for a more private room, and I shall explain to you everything that has transpired at the capital over the past week...your majesty.”

No less puzzled, Yuliana blinked her large, round eyes like a little bird.

“Eh?”

2

A great many twists and turns followed that fateful discussion, quite colorful and complex, and by all means sufficient for an entirely new book to be written to record them. But such matters we must no leave aside and look ahead to the conclusion instead. What was that conclusion and what did it mean for the world?

Ultimately, as was told in so many songs and tales long after, heard in all corners of the free world, on the thirtieth of Maarat, in the year nine hundred and ninety-nine of the thirty-third cycle of the Covenant, a new ruler was crowned in the city of Bhastifal. Adopting the regnal name “Ashwelia”, a young woman of only nineteen years of age acceded to the Throne, as the new Empress of the Tratovian Empire.

This unexpected celebration was initially met with widespread suspicion and raising of brows among the general public. Yet, the fresh sovereign’s slightly awkward but no less valorous and endearing coronation speech quickly won over even the opposition. It was made clear to all at a glance that she was a good girl, with a good head on her shoulders—and a downright beauty to boot. Certainly in every way preferable to the cocky youngster, who had ruled the chaotic years before, when all sorts of loathsome incidents happened and monsters and murderers roamed the streets unchallenged.

Only a handful of seasoned travelers and politicians marked the new Empress’s uncanny likeness with the princess of the faraway kingdom of Langoria. But such paranoid and senseless observations were quickly laughed into silence by the majority.

The previous Emperor, a tall, broad-shouldered man of age, against all recollections, was laid to rest in a grave by his ancestors at the Imperial graveyard, a beautiful slab of marble marking the spot, in honor of his bravery in life.

Meanwhile, the body of a certain young man, discovered on the Palace roof, was unceremoniously buried in an unmarked grave in the Gralia District, among the deceased poor and homeless, for whom he had never spared a thought whilst alive.

From that day on, a mysterious change was felt everywhere at the capital and the surrounding lands. It was as if the very sun had suddenly grown brighter than usual, the air more crisp, the water more fresh, and the crops more bountiful. People felt as though they had woken up from a long, sickly slumber, with the prior lulling, stagnant atmosphere swept away overnight, together with the momentary storm. Everyone carried about their daily labors with an alert and cheerful spirit, and a brighter outlook for life in general. New, fresher winds seemed to blow over Tratovia, bearing whispers of hope with it. An age of prosperity and glory was surely upon them, with reinforced bonds of co-operation with the cirelo of lonely Ledarnia across the seas.

In these joyful, sunny days, filled with energetic effort, no one was there to see when deep at the heart of the Imperial Palace at times, instead of their youthful new ruler, a strange being would sit on the Onyx Throne, a winged apparition of inhuman looks. And when no one was there to hear it, this otherworldly vision would let out a bright, unbridled laughter, ridiculing the adorable naivety of her adopted children.

But where was the champion, who had brought all this about? The mercenary who had overthrown the tyrant was nowhere to be seen on the day of the successor’s coronation. Her majesty would ask for that hero’s whereabouts at every available opportunity, but no one she found was able to produce the answer.

A hero that person was not, perhaps, but not entirely unnoticed did she go either.

No legend speaks of what happened to that unlucky warrior, save for just one.

In his famous magnum opus, The Long Song, the bard Waramoti tells of how the woman from the other world boarded a simple hay cart bound out of the capital, and so departed with only her trusty sword for company, leaving not a single word of farewell behind.

Where to, you may ask?

Towards another adventure, of course.

To live out her life in another world.

E N D

Thank You

"You wished to know how I look naked. Here's how. Why was it so important?"

"——!"

* * *

A Hero Past the 25th recently crossed 31 thousand views. It's also reached the relatively high rank of 262 on RRL despite its brevity.

Close behind, the sequel, Paradise Lost, has crossed 22 thousand views.

And in the two quick months since it was posted, Old Empire has already reached 10 thousand views.

Thank you very much for following this journey, and for all the positive comments, great ratings, and heart-warming reviews!

Table of Contents

Title Page

Preface

Prelude

Chapter 1: The Summoned Hero Makes a bit of a Mistake

Chapter 2: The Court Wizard Has Radicalized

Chapter 3: The Lord of Blue Feels Blue

Chapter 4: The Stalking Nightmare Has Left a Mark

Chapter 5: The Knight Princess's Will is Tested

Chapter 6: The Imperial Colonel's Pyre is Lit

Chapter 7: The Sable Spear Hunts a Blood-Red Trophy

Chapter 8: The Conspirators Come Up With a Trump Card

Chapter 9: The Grand Shield Makes a Comeback

Chapter 10: The Aged Metropolitan Plays Host to a Tragedy

Chapter 11: The Gambling Imperator Folds

Chapter 12: The Lord of Light Strikes Back

Chapter 13: The Sovereign of Men Shows His Cards

Epilogue

Thank You