1

The barracks appeared largely empty inside. Most troops 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 for the escapees would be extended to cover the nearby buildings. They had to get as far away as possible before then. Avoiding the few lingering guards in the hallways and stealthily making their way through the building, 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, long tables, half-emptied plates and bowls on them, hundreds of scattered, worn-out chairs, some knocked down by the occupants hurried departure. The alarm had caught several diners in the midst of their meal, it seemed.

How nostalgic a sight it had to have been for the former garrison trainee, Izumi could only guess. Even if her companion held some fond memories of the place, the mess hall in its crude simplicity and bleak chalk walls was all-in-all an unpleasant view to behold for the earthling. Izumi would have preferred to keep going, but they were compelled to take a short break. Miragrave had bad-looking burns along 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 alright?” Izumi asked her with some concern.

“This is nothing,” Miragrave defiantly replied, leaning her back on the counter between the hall and the kitchen, gathering her strength. “I am a soldier and not a stranger to hurt. Though you do seem to have a knack for catching me at my less fine moments.”

“Now’s no 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? I’d be fine with that.”

“Yes,” the Colonel replied with a faint smile. “See? 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.”

“Is that pride or self-loathing, I really can’t tell,” 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 looking to get anything out of this in particular, 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 remain incomprehensible to me,” Miragrave commented with a helpless sigh.

“Be that as it may, we should probably keep going, if you’re up to it. I’ve a bad feeling about this place, so I’d rather not stick around any longer than we have to.”

“You’re right. 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 trap door by the left side wall, covered by a mattress. Through there, we will come to a tunnel that will take us underground.”

“Oh, it’s an underground level next?” Izumi remarked. “Love those. How big are the rats? There aren’t any frogs that spew petrifying gas, are there?”

“It’s not rats or frogs that worry me. 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 stumbled into the hall through a side door. 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 coming, 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 narrow flash of lightning shot out from the air before her hand, together with a thick puff of black smoke and embers. The obscure bolt struck the closest soldier in the chest and knocked him back like a ragdoll. As the second troop stood stunned by his comrade’s preternatural fall, Izumi dashed at him. Staggering him with a palm strike to the chin, she seized his sword-hand with a firm, two-handed grip, and impaled the soldier with his own weapon.

“You know how to use magic?” Izumi turned back to ask Miragrave. “I thought you were a commando? How come you get to main two classes? That’s just not fair!”

“Thaumaturgical studies are mandatory in officer training,” the Colonel answered with a hint of pride. “And I was hand-picked for Ledarnia. Although, I must admit that my knowledge of the Art is fairly narrow in scope.”

“That’s still a lot better than what I know. Hey, maybe you could—”

“Now’s not the time. More soldiers 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, struck with disbelief. They could both recognize that coarse, bear-like voice, for having heard it not long ago. What the sound suggested should have been impossible, and yet, their senses clearly assured them otherwise.

“Raleigh...” Miragrave muttered with a disgusted frown.

“What a stubborn scumbag,” Izumi sighed. “I knew I should’ve chopped his head clean off to make sure.” She 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 someplace 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 to us. I’d like a bit bigger a head start, since I’m really not the running type. 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?”

“Nothing. I trust that this is not a problem for you, after how you made short work of my company. Happy hunting.”

Masking her feelings in irony, the red-haired woman disappeared through the kitchen door, while Izumi, shaking off the doubts creeping up from her subconscious, 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 very image of good health—at least fully functional, and armed again with his dreadful greataxe.

Finding his prey, the hooded man halted his steps.

“Ah, there you are. How courteous of you to wait for me,” 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 are 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 child reach this glorious destiny? That’s what he wanted to know. Well, what do you think the prophet answered him?”

“Let me guess,” Izumi said, “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, I give you that, but you may not find it half as easy this time. Know true despair as you bleed out in agony, knowing your hope was within an arm’s reach, and yet much too far!”

Brandishing his weapon, 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.”

2

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.

As difficult as the way was to see, 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. 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 since, so much had changed, it 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 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 temporary 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 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, as there were no houses or people on the overgrown riverbank outside to be kept out, and the existence of the tunnel itself was, as said, classified information.

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, five in a row, four in a line, work of the tunnel’s past constructors.

There was a drop of nearly seven feet from the inner tunnel’s exit. Considering the unreliable footing and the lack of ladders, 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 turned slippery, the climb next to impossible.

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 on the walls on rusted holders and they now all burst into flames at once. The sharp increase of lighting made the woman narrow her pained eyes, but she resisted closing them.

From behind the pillars further back in the room, several figures stepped out.

Five armored soldiers of the garrison—as well as the missing champion of Tratovia’s fabled Guild...Shivgried of the Sable Spear, the Impaler.

“Pardon the theatrics,” Shivgried said with a smug grin. “I simply couldn’t resist. I felt our reunion earlier was a little lacking in glamor. 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 now but deny and reject, 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 land of decay! There is no honor left 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. 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 roar of frustration and despair, the spearman shrieked at his men,

“Take her!”

As commanded, the knights raised their swords and cautiously moved out 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. Killing her emotions, with the cold mind of a soldier, she browsed the information available to her.

Firstly, there was no shunning the facts.

So long as Shivgried lived, there was no way she could get away from this predicament.

One way or the other, the opposition had to be eliminated or at least severely crippled. There were six enemies—no, seven. 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 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.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

So Miragrave would have done, had she still been the exemplary cadet from years past. Yes, she would have arrived at that conclusion faster, and reacted sooner.

However, experience soon extinguished the youthful tension 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.

That was the only way she could survive. 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 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 humans 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 while they remained oblivious of hers, she couldn’t afford to strike without a plan or the others would soon 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 to take 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 Terror 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 ahead. “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 two or three steps away, he failed to find a soul. He paused and tried to listen, but there was movement and noise everywhere around him.

Which of those sounds were his comrades and which was the target…?

No matter how he pried his ears, it was near 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 pauldron.

“Just a bit to your right,” an effeminate but chilling voice whispered close to his ear.

Freaked out, the knight quickly spun around, cutting sideways by reflex. And he felt the tip of his 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 that 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 and confusion. A moment too long. In that brief time, someone had slipped behind his back, stolen a dagger 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 their condition. Not that there was anything that could be done. Both were undeniably dead or seconds away from it. The one cut in the face had been finished off by a stab to 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 sudden sound of a collision elsewhere.

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 dagger, stolen from one of the deceased, had been embedded in the knight’s flesh, forced through the armor’s 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 one’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 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 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 sound like from the hammer of a blacksmith rang out, as the sword was stopped by his chestplate collar, having slashed open the side of his neck.

In short order, Shivgried’s escort had been taken out, and their prey slipped back into the dense mist.

“What are you doing, you mage bastard!” the downed sergeant called out in anger and despair. “Get rid of this fucking shit, or we’re all going to die down here!”

“No!” Shivgried heard him and shouted back. “Don’t show yourself!”

The panic of the dying knights was infectious.

Feeling responsible for the tragedy unfolding, the Magic Corporal hiding on a platform by the east-side wall made up his mind. He had to help his comrades somehow. What good was his power, if all he could do was watch!

Therefore, he valiantly stepped forward and spread his hands.

“Ilomené! Tae mechisto mafele o—!”

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. Under this false sense of security, he moved to disperse the smokescreen. Such illusions of invincibility were 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 hit him, 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 by the entrance of the tunnel leading outside, at the green fog’s limit, listening to the disconcerting sounds coming from here and there in 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.

“Would it have been so awful?” Shivgried asked her. “Becoming mine? Or did you already swear yourself to another man? To whom 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 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 skilled hands would respond to any threat, counter any blow, claim the life of the enemy, and then deliver him to another day of battle.

Because such was the only life that Shivgried knew.

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 stab would come from the left, she would attempt to deflect it and evade to the right, then to slash at his exposed neck. Exactly like they taught at the academy. 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 human 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 interrupted the silence of the underground room. 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, long in the past, 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 to defend 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 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 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. And then named it.

“Yodith.”

The rune glowed faintly. Shortly after, green flames spread out from the eerie letter, engulfing and devouring the form of Shivgried, whom they called the Impaler.

——“AAAAAAAIIIIEIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Shortly, the incinerated hand clutching the spear crumbled away, and one of the champions of Tratovia’s infamous Guild had been reduced to ashes.

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 wry, self-deriding smile and closed her eyes.

“I’ve kept you waiting, Thalinn...”

Relaxing her muscles, the woman let herself fall 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 ‘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 me it's a really, really bad idea, but it’s clear I’m going to have to pull this thing off, as is. It’s probably going to hurt a lot too. You might want to 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.”

“Hm. 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 holding the woman still with her left arm, Izumi gripped the spear with her right and double-checked the angle.

“Alright. Here goes nothing. Hold your breath. One...two...”

In one swift yank, Izumi drew out the spear and cast 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 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...?”

Izumi had to get away from the garrison area and any enemy mages, before she could attempt to contact Carmelia. But while carrying the prisoner was now possible, it was quite likely that Miragrave was going to bleed out long before they could reach safety. Any forceful motion would only worsen the damage…The situation seemed hopeless.

Giving up then 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...”