1

Riswelze never expected to open her eyes again, yet the young assassin's mind nevertheless surfaced again from the darkness in which it had been forcefully cast. Although, instead of hope, the fact only rekindled despair at her heart.

Riswelze found herself lying in an uncomfortable position on her face in short grass behind the main building. As she tried to get up, she discovered that her hands were firmly bound by thick cuffs of iron. The loud crackling of fire drew her attention to a small house burning in the distance. The whole Haywell hill was lit up by the happily blazing storage building. Most of the rockets had already exploded and burned up, but now and then a stray missile shot out of the inferno in a random direction, making the people nearby jump.

The main building itself was mostly safe from the fire, being a considerable distance away and made of stone, but the same couldn't be said of the once beautiful garden in between, where a number of the knights were busily struggling to put out the rebellious flames. In spite of their efforts, most of the area's earlier splendor was hopelessly lost, the little maze reduced to cinders, the roses charred and dried.

There were guards all around. How had she ended up there? The last thing she could recall was running into a robed figure after trying to set the guardhouse on fire. After that, she had been swallowed by thick, suffocating darkness, where she had hovered in a strange state of half-oblivion.

“Ris!” Somebody was calling her.

The girl looked to her left and saw a guard on his knees a few feet away. She quickly recognized him as her associate, whom she knew by the name Hardy. He had been posing as a town guard called Milfred in order to infiltrate the Mayor's estate. It seemed he had been caught as well, and his hands were also shackled. There was a bleeding bruise on his brow, making evident that he didn't submit willingly. “You're alive, thank the Divines.”

Despite his state, the youth still had the heart to worry about Riswelze before himself.

“I don't see much reason for gratitude in that,” the assassin sourly responded, and wrestled herself up into a sitting position. It was barely any more pleasant, but a little more dignified at least. “Just how bad did we screw up?”

“I tried to look for you, but they—”

Suddenly, Hardy silenced himself, as a dark shadow approached them. The gloomy figure of the sorcerer Joviél took over Riswelze's field of vision. There was dark cloth wrapped around his head, to cover the left side of his bloodied face, and his noble features were distorted by agony and wrath.

“Who is she?” he asked her.

“What?” Riswelze failed to understand the question, her mind still hazy.

The elf leaned forward, grabbed the girl by the collar and effortlessly lifted her in the air. She had heard the elven bodies possessed strength and resilience greatly superior to that of humans, but the strength displayed now was in no way apparent from the sorcerer's thin appearance. It seemed there was at least one trait the cursed cirelo shared with their high elf relatives.

“The witch,” Joviél coldly clarified. “Do not lie to me. I know she is one of your company. You brought her here, for the princess. Who is she?”

Slowly, Riswelze started to catch up.

Is he talking about Izumi? What happened?

“You're not going to like this,” she said, “but I have no idea.”

“And you would be half correct in that.”

Dropping her back on the ground, the sorcerer turned to the second captive, while pointing his black staff at Riswelze.

“Talk or she dies.”

“I will tell you everything you want to know,” Hardy slowly articulated, “Hel, I'll look for this witch myself. I'll bring her to you, and you can do whatever you want with me after. Just promise me that you will let Ris go.”

“You are in no position to set conditions,” the dark elf replied.

“I don't know who she is or where she's come from, that much I swear is true. But I know where she is. I gave the woman a sword and told her the princess is in the guardhouse. That's where I saw her go last. The chances are, she's still in there. You can catch her if you hurry! It's not far!”

“Hardy!”

Even if it was to save her life and even if they had long since agreed to prioritize their own comrades above anyone else, Riswelze was shocked by the man’s eagerness to aid the enemy. But it didn't produce the desired results.

“Yes, a guard saw you speak with the woman,” Joviél said, and while his demeanor remained calm, under the surface brewed a storm. “You gave her a weapon that you smuggled into the banquet and told her where to find the princess. This much is nothing new to me. What I want to know is what she is! What kind of power does she possess? What am I dealing with!?”

“I...I do not know that,” Hardy reluctantly admitted. “I've never met that woman before in my life. I swear! Looked just human to me! But she must be where the princess is, if only you go there, you will—”

“I already have full control of the area. If you have nothing more to tell me, then you should understand I have no further need for you either. Or perhaps I do?”

The elf turned his remaining eye back at Riswelze.

In turn, the undecorated tip of his staff turned to point at the man.

“Tell me, rat, how high do you value your ally?”

Riswelze made her tone as determined as she could, as she answered,

“Kill him and you will not get another word out of me. Count on that.”

“Again, not the answer I want. I’ve had enough. I assure you, pitiful beast, if there is one thing I have learned in my time among your kind, it is that there is nothing easier in Ortho than making words come out of humans.”

“Wait—”

“Ischvelein.”

As soon as the sorcerer uttered that word, the man facing his staff exploded into a snowy flower, countless thin icicles tracing the outline of his silhouette. As if stilled in time as well as in place, his last gasp, never uttered, was still almost audible on his face. A guard bearing a hammer stepped forward and shattered the newly created, morbid statue with an overhead blow. Countless pieces of red ice scattered all over the lawn.

“You’re a right damn monster,” Riswelze bitterly told the elf, gritting her teeth and turning her face away.

“A monster?” Joviél repeated. “I did not come to ruin this festival of peace uninvited, to murder and thieve for paltry coin. Or do you claim there was some noble, higher purpose in you burning down the house, driving away the townspeople in terror? In gouging out my eye?” The dark elf brought his face closer, his remaining eye burning with hatred not all that different from the fire behind him. “An eye for an eye. Unless that is a fate you wish upon yourself, then prove your worth to me now.”

Before it could come too obvious that Riswelze had no intention of answering, as she braced herself for her grim end, they were interrupted.

Coming from the manor was the Duke himself, with a handful of more knights as his personal guard.

“Joviél!” he raised his voice as he approached the group in the backyard, “will you finally explain to me what in the Emperor's name is going on in here?”

“We have intruders,” the elf turned to answer him.

“I—I can see that!” the Duke responded in dismay. He glanced at Riswelze kneeling on the ground and then struck the girl across the face with the back of his hand. “Does it look like I give a fuck? Why aren't they all dead, deader than dead, tortured, hung, and dead? You should know my wants well enough to take care of them before it gets like this! Why isn't it done? What. Is. Wrong with you? And what happened to your face...?”

“There is an irregularity,” the sorcerer slowly responded. “Until I know what it is, caution is needed.”

The false Norenbagh wasn't too pleased with the news. His banquet, meant to solidify his influence over the city, had been ruined with an adverse effect. The whole inventory was lost in flames, corpses of dead guards all over his yard, and he couldn't pretend to understand what had actually happened or why. Wiping his tired face with his hands, he looked at the guards standing idly about.

“What are you doing!?” he shrieked at them. “Why isn't everybody searching!? Do you need twenty people and a sorcerer to interrogate one girl? I want bodies! Dead bodies! Do you hear me? Or I'm going to start making some! Just get me somebody who can finally explain to me in plain words what is going on in my house!”

——“If you're fine with me, I might be able to explain a thing or two.”

Everybody's attention was caught by a voice suddenly calling across the yard.

Striding over the lawn was an adult woman in a green-white dress, with groovy black patterns all over it. No, actually, those patterns were neither produced by a tailor nor black in color. The distance and unique lighting conditions had simply created such an illusion at a distance. In reality, the dress had become stained all over with splatters of blood. As had her face.

But regardless of her unbecoming state, the woman was smiling.

In her hand, she held no purse but a large greatsword, which drew a squiggly line over the lawn as she dragged it behind her.

“Oh, hold on,” the Duke said, recognizing her, “you're that...what was it again. With that braindead general. Ah, yes! The Baroness of Letham. That's not who you really are, is it?”

“How clever of you,” the woman responded, stopping for a polite curtsy, lightly lifting her dress. “I am Itaka Izumi, a summoned hero from another world. I'm sorry to tell you this, but I came here to steal away your lovely bride. Because she really is more than you deserve. I'm sorry about your wedding plans, but please give up on them. Also, if you can forgive my greediness, I'd like to take that thief with me as well. I know she can be a mischievous and naughty little cat, but aren't we all the children of our parents? Since she still appears to be in one piece and in a modest state of dress, I am willing to let you live if you give me what I want.”

Having presented her terms, Izumi stabbed the Amygla on the ground in front of her and waited.

There was a pause, with only the crackling and banging coming from the burning building to remind Riswelze that time was continuously passing.

“Ha!” The Duke finally cracked. “Hahahaha! Isn't that great? Isn't that just great? You want my bride? You want this thief? Why not take my trousers, the shoes from my feet too!? Walking around the town with my ass bare would hardly humiliate me any more than you already have. No, no. I'm afraid I have a better idea, milady. You, this saboteur friend of yours, and the princess alike will never see daylight again. Oh, but rest assured, your lives will be quite safe. There's simply no pleasure in destroying corpses. Trust me, I happen to be an expert on this topic. Get her.”

The man gestured at the guards.

Not too alarmed by her weapon, as if tasked to merely retrieve a bucket of water, the two knights that stood the closest to her now approached Izumi.

Indeed, judging by their carefree stride, the guards seemed quite convinced her arms lacked the strength to even lift the massive weapon from the earth it had sunk into. They paid it no heed whatsoever. Too many extraordinary things had happened tonight for them to ponder such details. The contrast between the soft woman in her ball dress and the heavy weapon was too striking to offer a natural explanation to the blood covering her. Surely she had only happened near a fight and then picked up the weapon from one of the deceased, in a pointless effort to appear threatening.

Could anyone fault them for arriving at this easy conclusion?

As mistaken as it was.

At the moment the guards lined up to grab the woman by the arms and drag her with them, the Amygla had separated from the lawn and tore away their throats in a precise horizontal cut.

“The tailor probably won’t take this dress back anymore,” Izumi remarked, showered in fresh blood.

For a moment, everybody present was absorbed in watching the lifeless guards slowly sink to the ground. It was a strangely captivating sight.

“What are you doing!?” the Duke woke his guards from the daze. “Get a move on, you idiots!”

“I feel like I've seen this somewhere before,” Izumi continued, as a larger batch of guards set forward, pointing their spears at her. “This is why I would've preferred a game world. Reality really is too predictable. An AI will always take you seriously and play its best game, no matter what. Real people never will. It doesn't matter how many countless hours you've been training or how many gallons of sweat you've poured. One wrong move, one careless miscalculation, and that’s the end. It can happen anywhere, at any time. There are no checkpoints and no retries. You can't level up to endure critical hits, and there's no gear that will cover every weakness. Do you know why games normally don't follow mechanics like that? Because it would just make things too easy for the player.”

The guard at the front raised his lance into an overhead strike as he charged, aiming at the woman's shoulder with the two-sided spearhead. Izumi twisted her upper body to evade the hit in the nick of time, raised her leg and pinned the spear under her heel before the attacker could retract his weapon. The tip of the pole arm sank deep into the lawn, stopping the knight's offensive and turning him into a roadblock to those behind him.

Instead of stopping, the group impatiently split up on two sides to get past their clumsy comrade.

Instead of waiting for them to surround her, Izumi picked her right-hand side and dashed forward, cutting down the nearest enemy with an overhead blow before he could orient himself for an attack. The guard managed to raise his spear to defend, but the greatsword sank through the wooden shaft without resistance, tearing through his neck, chest plate and the flesh underneath.

“Gyaaahhh!!”

“All it takes is one little mishap,” Izumi continued, turning a full circle and offhandedly executing the knight whose weapon had become stuck with a wild swing at his neck. “Depending on the rules, games can be pretty unfair too. Take minesweeper, for example. Not that you know what minesweeper is, this is just me thinking aloud. But even if you play an otherwise perfect game, without committing a single mistake, there will eventually come a spot, where you have no choice but to guess to get forward. Because it’s not possible to deduce the contents of all the remaining squares with just the numbers the game gives you.”

She dived under a wild spear swing and thrust the sword through the assailant's abdomen. Then, bending her knees, she quickly shoved the weapon deeper, gutting the guard behind the first one from his blind spot.

“But this isn't a video game. You don't have to guess. Rather, you never should. You can cheat, you can lie, feint, distract, or you just run away. If I know I’ll die fighting fifty, then all I need is to make sure I’ll never have to fight fifty. If I know being underestimated will give me an advantage, then I'll do everything I can to make my enemy underestimate me. Don’t get this wrong, you guys are strong. Probably stronger than an average person in my world. But there’s only so far you can go while self-taught. You don't know about kenjutsu, kendo, taekwondo, jiu-jitsu, aikido, or shambo. You don't know about physics. You don't know about centrifugal force, gravity, or Newton's laws of mechanics. That's all.”

One guard managed to get within grappling distance by abandoning his deflected spear. So close, Izumi had no way of cutting him down with her large weapon. A triumphant look on his face, he was certain he had cornered his enemy. But Izumi drew the blade back close, and stabbed him in the face with the pointy handguard. Incapacitated by the pain, the guard fell to his knees on the lawn. In the next moment, following a Golf-style swing, his head was sent flying.

“I really wanted this to be a game world, you know. Technique on technique, RNG versus RNG, a perfectly equalized system, where everyone's chances are the same. Not for my own sake, because having played a lot of online games would give me an advantage. For you guys' sake. Because as it is, there's no fun in it.”

Another guard fumbled and dropped his weapon, turning to run in terror. Izumi stabbed the Amygla down through the back of the fleeing man's knee. Crying in agony, he fell flat on his stomach, pinned in place. Putting her weight on it, Izumi jumped over the weapon and landed on the guard's neck, followed by a grotesque sound of torn spinal ligaments. Hiding the weapon behind her, she waited until the next charging foe was within striking distance, before pulling the sword out and throwing it forward, impaling him.

The body count kept multiplying at a staggering rate.

Soon enough, nothing was left moving around Izumi.

Wiping sweat off her brow, Izumi turned to face the remaining group.

“Next please?”

Of the group of around thirty, a dozen were left. Even as light as she had made it seem, Izumi could tell that the limits of her endurance were fast approaching. She moved the way she had learned to move in her youth, but her body was no longer in the shape to support it.

The truth was that she had all but given up on her dream, neglecting herself for many years. The late timing and all the drinking were taking their toll as well. She moved on muscle memory alone, barely aware of what her arms and legs were doing.

What really made Izumi strong wasn't her past training, her will to win, or even the remarkable weapon in her hands.

It was the fact that she had already given up on life.

With nothing to lose, she moved in a way no sane person would, taking absurd risks, trying out reckless moves, out of mere curiosity to see how long it would take for the grim reaper to catch up with her.

The real challenge would begin from here.

The remaining enemies wouldn't underestimate her anymore.

They would smarten up and get more cautious, use what they had seen to their advantage. There was a chance that further reinforcements would join in at any moment. When the guards would begin to co-operate properly, they would be sure to take her down.

But worrying about it was pointless.

How death came was inconsequential.

Everyone had to die one day, and Izumi felt the presence of Death in her every waking moment. But after years of idly waiting for it, sensing its cold breath so distinctly and close by now was refreshing.

Raising the blade, Izumi took a two-handed kendo stance, exhaled, and relaxed her shoulders,

“No takers? Then don't mind if I take another turn—“

“AAAAA!”

“DIVINES HELP ME!”

“A DAEMON! A WITCH! A MONSTER!”

As one of the men lost his fortitude and succumbed to panic, the rest quickly followed with an odd psychological domino effect.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The remaining guards turned tails and fled the yard in terror.

“Eh?” Izumi watched their frantic retreat in confusion. Only the Duke, the sorcerer, and a few guards stalled by their presence remained behind. “What was so scary?”

“It's the way you keep chanting that gibberish mid-fight!” Riswelze informed her. “That's freaking creepy and gross! Are you pretending to be summoning spirits or what!? Knock it off!! Fight seriously!”

“That's rude, I'm not pretending anything...” Izumi pouted as she resumed her unopposed advance. “I thought I was having a pretty insightful monologue there.”

Having lost himself watching the astounding farce, the Duke snapped out his daze by her move.

“Do I have to do everything myself? Oh, but I know how to deal with your kind,” he said, quickly stepping to Riswelze. He pulled the assassin up to her feet and drew a small knife from under his coat, holding it on her neck. “You'll drop the weapon and surrender, or I'll bleed her like a pig. I don't need to convince you I'm serious, do I?”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Izumi said, stopping. “Whenever I see this scene on TV, I can't help but wonder this: if you actually follow through with the threat and kill your one and only bargaining chip, then what do you think will keep you alive after that? Wouldn't I want to make your death twice as slow and painful in revenge?”

“People don't normally want to murder in revenge!” Riswelze retorted in the Duke's stead.

“What in the blazes is wrong with you people?” the Duke said.

At that moment, seeing an opening, Riswelze raised her knee and stabbed her heel in her captor's boot. Groaning, the fake Duke's hold momentarily loosened and the assassin quickly threw her head back, mashing him in the face. Evading his knife, Riswelze dived under his arms and dashed away.

“NO!” At that moment, the black magician, Joviél, threw his staff forward and hollered.

In an instant, an explosion of black mass, like liquid smoke, erupted from his staff, engulfing the entire backyard in an instant. Unable to escape the strange mist, Izumi waited still and held her breath.

It didn't seem like the smoke was corrosive or otherwise harmful. It didn’t sting her eyes, or feel like anything on her skin. She cautiously inhaled a bit, but only smelled the smoke from the burned house.

The effect appeared to be only visual, an elaborate smoke bomb. The buildings had disappeared, as had the flames of the storage house, the guards, the Duke, the mage, Riswelze as well. Izumi could only see a bit under seven feet around herself, everything else was obscured by a complete, impenetrable blackness.

It appeared the spell was akin to a smoke bomb intended to hide whatever killer move the enemy was planning next.

Did it only affect Izumi, or everyone else as well?

No, it was probably safe to assume that the caster himself wasn’t affected.

Keeping her sword raised in front of her, Izumi didn't dare to move but tried to pick up any signs of an incoming attack, or other hints that would betray the position of her enemies. The rustling of grass, the whistling of magical projectiles, words of incantation—anything.

She didn't need to wait for long.

Suddenly, running footsteps approached her straight from the front.

Paranoid if it was a trap and that the real attack would come from her exposed flank, Izumi remained unmoving and waited still, her guard up.

And from the darkness, in her limited circle of light appeared...Riswelze.

Seeing the woman, the assassin stopped, startled, but soon breathed a sigh of relief. Her hands were still cuffed behind her, but she had managed to shake off the Duke, it seemed.

“Everything okay?” Riswelze asked, catching her breath.

“I'm fine, though,” Izumi replied, as she continued to listen. “What happened?”

“I—I don't know,” the girl looked around. “I don't feel that different. What kind of magic is this...? Have you ever heard of anything like this? The scale is—immense.”

“It’s all new to me.”

“That sorcerer is probably aiming at us somewhere out there, even as we speak,” the assassin kept glancing warily around and backed slowly to Izumi. “We’re sitting ducks here, we have to move.”

“You're right. I don't like this sort of tricks at all.”

“The veil can't go on forever,” the assassin moved away from the manor’s direction. “If we can get outside its range, we should be safe.”

“Right.”

“No, wait. This could be our chance,” Riswelze suddenly stopped and said.

“What do you mean?”

“They’ll think we’re at their mercy. We should make use of that.”

“Not a bad idea, but how?”

“I know it’s crazy, but listen. I may have an idea,” the girl said and turned to Izumi. “I need you to work with me here, alright? When I will—”

Swing.

The sound of the guillotine-like blade cut through the dark.

A clean, beautiful overhead blow cleaved into Riswelze's slim, cheetah-like form, right between the neck and the right shoulder, as soon as she entered the greatsword's range. Her leather corset and the body beneath were tough, almost unnaturally so, but not tough enough to withstand the most durable metal in the world.

The cut was deep, certainly fatal.

Of course it would be. It had been delivered with the intent to kill.

Sinking to her knees, Riswelze looked up at her murderer—at Itaka Izumi—with eyes full of disbelief.

“What would you have done...had it been her...?” she mouthed in a stranger's voice.

“Find comfort in knowing that the next try would go better,” Izumi answered.

The assassin girl's features melted away, giving way to an ageless, vaguely masculine face, hair of fuller black, and pointed ears.

Calling it a gamble would have been too generous.

It had been nothing more but a wild guess. A whim.

The sorcerer had the ability to confuse people's senses, make others see whatever he wanted and hide what he didn’t. Him suddenly gaining the ability to influence Izumi with his magic, in spite of his initial inability to do so was far-fetched as a theory, but possible nevertheless.

Why had he simply stood there the whole time, watching, instead of supporting the guards with spells? Because he didn't know support-type magic, perhaps, and didn't want to risk hitting friendlies?

Or, because he was occupied with analyzing her, preparing magic of an entirely different sort. Perhaps Izumi naming herself as a summoned hero from another world had given the mage the last clue necessary to apply his illusions to her?

Either way, it was a lot of ifs.

Even if it were true, what kept him from doing as he had suggested himself—aiming at Izumi from the cover of the dark with a long-range spell?

Vanity. Izumi had bet everything on that answer.

In the storage building, she had humiliated him.

A mere human had overpowered the great elven magician, who had lived for many centuries, convinced of his superiority. Would he be content with simply shooting a lone woman in the back from a blind spot and calling it a day? Would that have appropriately demonstrated the difference in rank and skill? Doing what any common bandit would do?

Not, right?

It would never be enough.

He had to get up close and personal. He had to catch her alive, keep her like a trophy. He would want to outwit her and not fail to rub it in her face for the rest of her painful existence. But here, like in so many stories, arrogance became his demise.

One human lifetime might not have been enough to catch up with an immortal elf.

But through the simulated realities of cinema and video games, one could experience many different, foreign identities, perspectives and emotions in a condensed form. And Itaka Izumi had lived her earthly life through such experiences. It was on this lonely path of escaping reality, that she had gained insight into the character of beings who weren't real, who could never exist in her own world.

Those experiences had guided her intuition into this cruel decision.

Cut down without hesitation anyone who came within the striking distance——even if that person was the one she wanted to save.

Well, there was one more, separate reason for her confidence in the answer: her lack of confidence in herself.

“This is reality,” she said, a bit sadly. “There's no way she would come running into my arms like in a romantic comedy, after everything I've done.”

Izumi drew her sword from Joviél's body and the surrounding darkness vanished.

There, before the manor, stood the false Duke and the real Riswelze, the girl still in his hold. Everything starting from her struggle to her escape had been an illusion. It seemed they'd been caught by the spell's effect as well, and looked around in confusion.

Then their eyes fixed on Izumi and the body of the mage lying on the ground. It was at this sight and the preceding sorcery that the last remaining guards deemed the chance of a comeback victory completely lost. They abandoned their spears and swiftly resigned from the Duke's protection. When a man’s driving motivation was an easy life, he couldn't be expected to lay down that life for his employer.

“That's it then?” Izumi approached the remaining pair.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey now...!” The imposter found himself abandoned and cornered. “Let's talk this through. You want your friends back. I'm increasingly okay with that. Here, I'm letting her go.” He pushed Riswelze away, dropped his knife and backed away, raising his hands in the air. “That's done. You've won. You don't want to dirty your hands with me. I'm not worth the effort, right? I guarantee you safe passage. I own this town and everything around it. Take the princess, take your thieving friend, and go. I'd offer you coin too, but unfortunately, I don't have a dime on me, and I'd really rather not have you hang around for a heartbeat longer—FUUH!”

Coming closer, spinning the greatsword like a massive sling, Izumi swung it forward in a rising arc. With frightful velocity, the heavy blade sank into the man's groin, cutting his speech short.

“There. You don't need a wife anymore,” Izumi said, before gripping the sword's long handle wide with both hands and proceeding to pull it up with all her might.

Riswelze thought all the years as an assassin had hardened her to vision of gore. She had thought wrong. Nauseous, she tore her face the other way and had to try her hardest to suppress the contents of her stomach from expelling themselves at the revolting sight and sound. For a while, she sat on her knees, catching her breath. Her ribs still ached from being hit by the sorcerer's blast, but she was alive.

Though tonight's was definitely not among her finest heists.

“Can you stand?” a voice eventually asked her. She looked up and saw Izumi standing before her. “I found a key to your handcuffs.”

Instead of getting up, the girl let out a wry laugh and looked down.

“I'm scared shitless, to be honest,” she said.

“Eh? What?” Izumi asked.

“You really need to ask? You. Take a look around? Do you think anybody could've done this and still pass for a human being? Who are you, really?”

“Really?” Izumi frowned, dejected. “I kinda figured you might not be jumping in joy over it, but being told I’m a monster so upfront is still pretty heartbreaking. I'd like to think that I did what I did for the good of my friends. Was it wrong then?”

“You...” Riswelze struggled up to her feet. “Are you telling me you did this for my sake? This...How am I supposed to take that? You came here for that princess, didn't you? Why didn't you just grab her and run away? Why did you come back for me? Why did you go this far just to save somebody like me? I don't get it! I don't understand you! What's the matter with you?”

Izumi looked troubled.

“Eeh, what do you want me to say?” She awkwardly scratched her neck. “Isn’t this what heroes do? Wouldn't it have been worse to leave you behind?”

“Heroes? Nobody thinks they want to be heroes! I mean, not this way! Look at yourself! You could've died a dozen times over or worse! I already owed you for trying to kill you, and now I owe you my life too!? How am I ever supposed to pay that back!? What do you want from me? Make me your slave, your girl toy? Put a leash around my neck and have me act as your furniture? Give me a break! I’m not going to spend the rest of my life kissing your boots!”

“Well, so far as I'm concerned, you don't owe me anything special. I just didn’t want you to die, that’s all. You can carry on with your life and forget this ever happened if you want to. Although...”

“What?”

Izumi hugged her sword and squirmed uncomfortably.

“...I'm suddenly feeling really hot and bothered when you talk dirty and yell at me like that. Could it be, I’ve awakened to a new fetish I never asked for? What should I do?”

“Ha...?” Riswelze blushed and staggered back. “You...have you been drinking?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Izumi complained. “I'm already an adult, I'm allowed to have a drink or two! Besides, I'm immune to alcohol, you know! I did attend a mixer once, just once, but nothing came out of it when I was the last one left standing and nobody invited me again! But that should prove I have a high tolerance, if nothing more.”

“Oh, bloody Hel...” Riswelze sighed and shrugged.

Like a cat, she then jumped up, drew her knees up and twisted her cuffed hands to the front from under her heels. “Come on. Open these for me.”

Izumi opened the handcuffs and the girl rubbed her aching, scraped wrists, looking over the bloodied woman from head to toe.

“All right,” she finally said. “I'll be your slave.”

“Eeeeehhh?” Izumi's jaw fell as she blushed.

“D-don't get any weird ideas, you twisted woman! I'm not going to lick your boots or anything extreme, but until I've paid back my debt—until I've saved you from death exactly twice, I will stick with you. You'd better not have a problem with that.”

“I did plan to invite you to the party anyway, so I don't mind, but are you sure? More stuff like this might happen again. Or even something worse.”

“Then you need me,” Riswelze replied.

“I might end up saving you a third, or a fourth time too,” Izumi said.

“Then I will have to owe you some more.”

“What if I mess up and you die? Aren't you scared?”

“Of course I am. But everyone dies one day. That’s life.”

“You...you have barf on your chin.”

Riswelze patiently closed her eyes and sighed.

“You have blood and parts of something I don't even want to try to identify all over you, so I'm not going to be embarrassed.”

Izumi wiped the girl's face with her hand.

“You have...something on your lips too,” she said, leaning closer.

“I—I thought I said I'm not going to be that kind of slave...”

“Service! It's fanservice!”

“You're terrible when you're drunk, Izumi.”

Riswelze complained but wouldn't move away.

All Izumi could think about was that this was her third chance to have her first kiss tonight and she wasn't going to let it go. Gently holding Riswelze's face, Izumi let gravity pull her forward. She couldn’t help it, she was intoxicated and tired and felt weak. So she convinced herself.

But right as their noses were about to align, a sudden, odd sound made her stop and look away. The sound of metal being dragged over stone.

Breaking away from the girl, Izumi reached for her sword and turned.

Further away, using his black staff for support, the cirelo Joviél dragged himself to his feet.

“Tonight may be your victory, human,” he forced himself to speak. “But do not think this is the end.”

“Elves sure don't die easy, do they?” Izumi remarked.

“You have no idea,” the sorcerer spat blood. “When my mother was found in the reclaimed ruins of Idonya, she was still alive. A month after we lost her. Without arms or legs. Without tongue, but alive...Fury. Fury alone drives my people now. It keeps us alive.”

“You do have my sympathies, but none of that is our fault, is it?”

“I want your pathetic mind to comprehend this. Understand the gravity of what you have so foolishly done here. Each piece you undermine in the Emperor's plan is a piece in favor of chaos. Do you think this little blot of land you name as your country will remain forever safe from the evil that destroyed ours? That so long as the monsters kindly remain beyond the sea, you will have all the time in the world? Fool. Their hunger...it never stops. Tonight, you have made three kingdoms your enemies. And for what? For the virtue of a wench who betrayed her people! For a rat that murders for pennies!”

“Yule didn't betray anyone,” Izumi said. “She left her home to save the world and make her family proud. I think that's a more beautiful goal than whatever your Emperor is cooking.”

“Save the world? The Trophaeum? Ha...” the elf dryly chuckled. It was astonishing he could even speak or stand with his wound. “Did you even know this—the Tower of the Convenant stands on daemon territory now. The girl will never make it, that foolish child. Nowhere close. A worm weak even among maggots!”

“Well,” Izumi shrugged. “Maybe somebody will have to take her then.”

“Who would? You will not live to see the passing of summer. You have brought upon yourself my wrath. And my wrath is the wrath of the Circle of Pale Ashes.”

With effort, the sorcerer raised his staff. A portal of shadows appeared beside him. Where was it connected, only he would know.

The distance was too great.

There was no way for Izumi to reach him before he would slip through. And after escaping, he would enlist the aid of whatever group he worked for, to kill the summoned champion.

Riswelze reached for her daggers, only to recall they had all been taken from her.

With a malicious smile, Joviél gave them one last arrogant look, and turned to leave through the portal.

“——?”

But before he could do that, the portal vanished, as if evaporated.

Had his magic run out before its time?

No, that wasn't the case. The actual cause became apparent in the next moment.

From behind the dark doorway, a being radiating pure light appeared in front of the magician.

“Aesa...Davelu alaisa...?” the sorcerer gasped, recognizing that form, described in legends by far older than him.

“Greetings, cirelo,” Aiwesh, the Lord of Light said, a gentle smile on her lips. “You wished to meet me?”

“W-what...?”

“I believe words such as, 'challenge', and so forth were uttered in my presence. Amusing, is it not? You think the feeble sentiment you call fury will bring you to the level of a Divine Lord now? I do not hate confident young men. Well, here I am. How about it? Would you like to test me?”

“I have no quarrel with thee, Lord!” the dark elf shouted.

“Oh, but I have a quarrel with you, boy. Here I thought I would do your Emperor service and allow my vessel to be employed in his plot, for the noble goals you mentioned. And what does his ignorant servant do in his madness? He would have these unworthy beasts defile my chosen chalice? Of course, I would not make the mistake of ever trusting a mortal, but it seems the honor of the Aldervolk is not what it used to be either.”

“I...I had no idea! I would not have allowed it, had I known she was thy vessel! W-why did thou hide thy presence from me—”

“'Why?' And now I, the Lord of Light, must explain myself to one who fell from grace? Should you not blame your own blindness instead, Joviél of Elevro?”

“I...”

“Ahaha, I jest, I jest!” Aiwesh suddenly said, clasping her hands together, and laughed brightly. “I was well aware of how this was going to end already before the first piece was in place. No, this was, above all, a test for my chosen champion! A test, which she somehow managed to pass without assistance, albeit not without difficulty. For playing your part in the experiment so admirably, you have my gratitude!”

For a moment, something resembling relief flashed over the dark elf's countenance.

“Oh, but that does not mean I am not angry,” Aiwesh added.

The godly being shot out her slender arm and stuck it without mercy in the gaping wound on the sorcerer’s body.

“Rest well. I will be taking your power now.”

Under the Divine's magic, the dark elf's body slowly disintegrated into tiny particles. He didn't seem to be in pain. His expression was only surprised, as he little by little broke to ashes, the lighter than air fragments blown away by the gentle wind that swept over the Haywell hill.

Finished, Aiwesh flexed her fingers and turned to Izumi and Riswelze.

“Well then, children, shall we go? It seems the festival has ended.”

“That's...that's...?” the assassin stuttered, astonished.

“Ai-chan,” Izumi said.

“You have potential, Izumi dearest,” Aiwesh said, “but I expect slightly smoother operating next time. Really, you should not make a lady wait for so long. I was beginning to wonder if you were indeed coming at all. Do take notes and keep this in mind the next time, and I might just raise my evaluation of you.”

“You act like it went just as planned,” Izumi replied, too intoxicated to take the hint, “but isn't the truth that you were totally trapped and panicking back there?”

“Hm? Did you say something, sweetie? How strange, we seem to be having some communication trouble! Could there have been a fault in the summoning process? Perhaps I should get rid of this botched champion and roll for a new one right away...?”

“Let's leave it at that then...”

The Duke of Walington was dead, with no chance of a second revival. Over half of his personal guard shared his fate, found lifeless around his estate, bearing horrible wounds, and the rest dispersed, who could say where.

In this unexpected fashion, the banquet was brought to a conclusion.

Indeed, the night was remembered. It would be recalled in the small town of Grelden for many generations to come. As a matter of fact, “duke's banquet” would live on locally as an expression meaning the sudden, total ruination of an expected good time.

But it was not the end of the princess of Langoria, who was not seen in Grelden after that night, and whose shocking appearance in the banquet was later dismissed only as a wild fantasy by inebriated minds. This scandalous incident meant also neither the beginning nor the ending point in the legend of the summoned champion from another world.

That legend was forged elsewhere, another time.