1
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 and motivation. 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 to be sacrificed, in order to preserve the illusion of normality.
In vain. 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 heroes tasked with his majesty’s protection had all either been slain or were otherwise unavailable.
And there, on that pompous stone 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 princesses is not a very virtuous hobby 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 asked 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? Yeah, everybody’s got ulterior motives, isn’t that a given? Because we’re people, not the Justice League. I’m not here to argue who’s objectively more evil, because that sort 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 shit goes down tomorrow, then I’ll deal with it in due time—tomorrow.”
“Because obeying without questions is far easier than taking responsibility for yourself?” the man asked, walking 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 about it afterward. 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 responded. “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 right now.”
“Then, things have 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 discussion 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.
Despite it all.
Kill or be killed. That was all it was.
After all the souls she had delivered from this world, refusing here now 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 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 an oversight on her part, but she used no other Words.
No, her assessment had certainly been the correct one—to eliminate the opponent with the minimum necessary force. Nothing more could be reasonably expected to finish things.
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 if 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 it. But at the last moment, the man relaxed his arms and swapped his attack for a crude knee kick in the stomach instead.
“Gh…!” Receiving the impact with her abdominal muscles, Izumi was forced back and lost her balance. Shrugging off the pain, she rolled around her hips and was quickly back up on her feet, 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 deflecting the second with her sword. Although the improvised defense had been successful, the latter shaft passed unnervingly close to her right shoulder.
As soon as the volley had been delivered, the Emperor followed 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 this land.”
“…”
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 endure 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, it would have slowed her movements enough for the first arrow to land. Exactly as planned...?
And that wasn’t all.
The setup of invisible soldiers effectively disabled the benefits of Sifl, sealing Izumi’s movements, allowing her otherwise human foe not only to keep up with her, but to even rob her of the ever-precious 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.
“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.
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.
Itaka Izumi would not have gotten this far in life, if this were all it took to cripple her. Her wrath, her resentment, her fears, her doubts, her despair, all of that became absorbed and converted into fuel for the primal desire to win, to betray the expectations, to escape outside control.
By this point, Izumi’s simulated combat experience had become sufficiently complemented by real-life practice. Throwing away her human concerns, her mind cooled down, 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 seeking. The enemy had failed to kill her with the first strike, even the second, and by the third exchange, 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 withstood it without the faintest scratch.
Not even the parry was executed blindly.
After already receiving two attacks of this type, Izumi was ready to raise the level.
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 thigh, 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 overturned.
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 still 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 video game tactic in her mind, Izumi set about to dismantle 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 of the flow of combat.
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 spell, 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, 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 such a tight spot, Izumi jumped too high. Her feet hit the ceiling, but there was nothing there to hold on. Sadly, levitation magic was not among the runes engraved in the secula sonatea, and so she could only 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. She hit her right shoulder and hip painfully as she fell to her side. If the rune hadn’t strengthened her muscles, she would have broken bones. The whole arm was numbed and her left knee protested against motion, but her fingers still tightly clung to the sword and she could move.
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 regular vision to perceive a crystalline outline corresponding to their form. One of the foes was equipped with 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 a gluttonous fury. With a quite contained gasp of pain, the knight collapsed with a metallic crash. Realizing the enemy could perceive them, the second guard gave up on approaching the dangerous enemy, and pulled back.
But Izumi had already seen him.
As the legless knight fell, she kicked him in the side. Thrown back, the wounded slid at the feet of his comrade, knocking him over with his weight.
Jumping up from the floor, Izumi turned clockwise, drawing the sword along, and lopped off the staggered soldier’s head while he was still in the process of collapsing.
Next one, where’s the next one, quickly now…!
Even as 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 body and mind were begging for a repose.
So that she wouldn’t have to face it.
The answer that awaited her.
Focus, focus, focus…!
She couldn’t get careless or it would be over. In group fights, there was always the correct order by which to eliminate the enemies. The order, in which they would become a direct threat.
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.
Yet again, the deadly gamble with death was on.
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 flew high up and behind her.
She responded with her own.
Lifting the Amygla, Izumi threw it like a javelin.
“Haa—!”
That oversized dart might have been slower than an arrow, but no less deadly. It impaled the neck of the crouching archer, throwing him against the wall, dead in an instant.
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I didn’t take good care of it.
Izumi had sacrificed her weapon, but her powers weren’t dependent 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 was she?
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 magical reinforcement behind the throw, the knight’s body was rather ineffective impotent 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 anticipated.
As the body of the knight flew 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.
“Look out!” Warning cries rang out.
Too late.
Shortly, a series of fiery explosions ravaged the Throne Room as multiple rune traps were activated in succession. Whoever had planted them was quite creative. They weren’t all simple lightning traps. There were fire traps, pressure traps, and various other bizarre magical mechanisms included.
A number of pillars along the central walkway were burst by the pressure of the explosions, rock shrapnel flying around. The shockwaves traveled across the space, rebounding from the walls, smiting everyone present. Though she had stood further away, even Izumi got thrown off her feet, 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 room here and there. Somewhere else, magically produced metal spikes 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 destination.
Suddenly, the battle arena had fallen into complete chaos, converted into a slaughterhouse of magical effects, filled by the abhorrent cries of pain and fear, and the sobbing and moaning of the injured.
It was only after the unnatural havoc 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 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 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 moved. The Emperor turned around to see someone struggle up from among a group of corpses and chunks of stone. A woman—no, a creature of inhuman, dark and inorganic countenance. From the devastation that had reduced his guard into a battered mess, 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 clutched 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 want to fold 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. Gripping his sword, he dashed at Izumi. “I can’t! Not like this…!”
Gathering his determination, he cut at the woman. She lightly received his sword with her own, like in a game of badminton. Again and again, he continued to swing at her, but there was obviously no way he could match her unnatural swiftness or power.
“Come on now,” Izumi told him, blocking his attacks 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 into a clean V-shape, the short sword was knocked from the man’s hands. Gritting his teeth, ignoring the pain in his fingers, the man took a punch at the woman. In the face, in the gut. But with Tauhirn still active, Izumi endured the blows without much of a reaction.
“Arrrhgg...” the man recoiled, groaning, and cradled his right fist, with a knuckle broken.
“Man, that might leave a mark,” Izumi told him, rubbing 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. 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. Now clutching it with his intact left hand, 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 took that path, the capital sentence fell on him.
“I’m not a total Gandhi, all right,” the woman said with a scowl.
Eleven inches of steel 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. 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 underneath, an inescapable, overwhelming, yet also mysteriously soothing darkness overtook him.
And the man was no longer in this world.
Pulling the sword off, Izumi leaned on the weapon for a moment, staring at the body at her feet, as deep red 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. After all the fervor earlier, her brain had come to a sudden full 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. 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.
2
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 wore a formal-looking black coat that changed the air about him somewhat.
Certainly, 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, lovable yet fearsome, bearing a mask of callous neutrality even amid all the butchery.
But wasn’t their order a bit strange?
“Wow, what a show,” the young man said, 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, Benjamin Watts went on to climb the wide stairs and dropped his ass onto the Onyx Throne, relaxedly leaning on his elbow and crossing his legs. 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, Izumi thought her brain was going to short-circuit.
“Ben…?”
“Ah, yes. I believe the time has now come,” the man said. “Allow me to formally introduce myself now. Arserym Eleya Bra Vida Mavase, such was the name my mother gave me. But these days, I am better known by my other name—Mayeshwal III. I know it’s a bit of a mouthful, so you can just call me, ‘your majesty’.”
“What?” Izumi uttered with a deep frown. “You are...?”
“Yes! Don’t take me for some lowly usurper or a 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.”
Izumi glanced at Carmelia in turn. The sorceress remained still, eyes closed, as if not even paying any attention to the outrageous conversation.
But her silence spoke volumes.
“I know,” the youth continued. “‘Who was Benjamin Watts then?’ Did such a man ever even exist? Why, of course, he did. Summoned by Lord Gwanlyn at my behest, he appeared in this world two months before you did. I was curious to see what these prophesied ‘champions from another world’ were like. As to his current whereabouts—naturally, he would be the sorry carcass lying there at your feet.”
Izumi looked down at the 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 manner 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 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 performance before! By the Gods, was it worth it.”
There were a lot of questions going through Izumi’s head at the moment, 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 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, an old maid out of nowhere, made a complete ass out of my finest warriors. It was there that a staggering idea dawned on me. Using you, I could 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, certain individuals 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 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 as a wild experiment bore a fruit unlike anything I could imagine. All thanks to you.”
“You mean to say, 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 ultimate triumph over all the human lands. But I was indeed 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 heroes 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 meaning of her past week’s actions sink in.
As she remained silent, the true Emperor went on,
“I suppose a big part of the credit goes to the dead guy. He did a splendid job, all in all. Apparently, if only you give a random bum a bath and a shave, you get a passable emperor? Who would’ve thought? Clothes do make a man, huh? Oh, don’t make me laugh! He could be a bit difficult and stubborn at times, but men like him are ultimately simple to control. I just had to tell him, ‘I will kill the princess and feed you the pieces’, and he got quite cooperative after that! Even though he no doubt foresaw his fate. Ah, of course, I had everyone at the court sign a geas scroll that forbade them to reveal a word of the plot to anyone. 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 fool 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 of a commoner’s eye, but—damn. Never?”
“No,” Izumi admitted and looked at Carmelia’s stoic figure. “To be honest, I didn’t even think about it. It didn’t matter. Since I gave my word.”
“Is that it?” The Emperor shrugged. “So you did have something vaguely resembling honor to you, after all? Speaking of which, boy, did you give me a scare when you saved Marafel! Had we ran into each other at the Keep, the whole trick would’ve been exposed on the spot! Thankfully, the Colonel’s condition remains poor. And I shall make sure she never opens her eyes again.”
“...You really thought this through, huh?”
“That’s my role. And you didn’t think at all. But, that makes me glad. After everything I learned from you, I admit I grew just a little nervous. If the people of your world somehow gained stable access to ours, they would conquer us in a day! After all, your technology, military strength, and numbers all exceed us a thousand to one. However, it seems that regardless of the cleverness of the select few, the majority of your kind are brainless simpletons no different from the hapless masses we have over here. They would pass the power to choose their governing to the uneducated commoners, who in turn favor popularity over credentials or competence…What a backwards society! Surely you will destroy yourselves long before you can find a way to bridge our realms.”
“Well, there’s a reason I wanted out,” Izumi said.
“Right? Now that we’re on this topic,” the Emperor continued, “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, boast thirty thousand years of recorded history, since the dawn of the Covenant, and you don’t see us flying 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?”
“There is. The Covenant.”
“What do you mean…?”
The man looked amused by Izumi’s reaction, a strange glint in his eyes. The same kind of light he had when he would pry into the secrets of Earth. Perhaps that endless thirst for knowledge was not only an act.
“Nobody ever told you this?” he said. “I suppose it’s largely theoretical. It’s been a thousand years since the last ritual. Whatever we did know about it has been lost in time. Or, is that all? After spending most of my time in study of this subject and the materials gained from the elves, I believe I’ve found the real reason. 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 is clear: because on the Night of the Covenant, our planet isn’t somehow blown full of life again by the reigning champion, as if it were a leaking balloon. It’s remade from scratch.”
“Remade…?” Izumi repeated with a frown.
“That’s right,” the Emperor nodded. “Whoever conquers the tower of the gods gains the power to rewrite the world itself, using the old one as a base template. I imagine they are able to do whatever they please within certain pre-established margins. Assign limitations to technology, to population, reshape geography, outright delete entire races from existence...Get the picture? That is the actual meaning of the ‘miracle’ the myths speak of. Being simple warriors, the winners of the past probably didn’t have much imagination or made any profound changes. They wanted to keep things more or less as they were. But even if they did change something, we’d have no way of knowing it. Their decisions 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 how it works. All we get to keep is the idea that it must be used.”
“Entire races could be deleted?” Izumi repeated. “If that’s possible, does that mean they could create new ones as well…?”
“Ah, you’re catching on!” The Emperor showed a cold smile. “Indeed. This is what I meant to tell you before. Why no daemons were observed in the previous cycles, it must probably be 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 some champion hated the world so and wanted us to suffer? Well, your guess is as good as mine. There is no proof.”
“Then,” Izumi said, “the most efficient way to defeat the daemons would be to unmake them the same way? By conquering the Tower?”
The man shrugged.
“Possibly, yes. But, even if this were the case, why should we?”
“What?”
“Remember the prophecy?” The Emperor asked. “A summoned champion will end the Age of 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.”
“Nothing? 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 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 no one will be allowed to approach the Tower of Destiny.”
“No one?”
“That is correct. Not a soul. Fortunately, the daemons are doing an impeccable job at guarding the Trophaeum. So long as they’re there, no one will be able to 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 you’ll be there to see the end of the world. And you’re all right with that?”
But Carmelia only replied.
“All things must end one day.”
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 keep my ‘double’ busy. 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—once I burn the rabble out of the way. I only thought about using the princess to provoke them a little. At first, that is.”
“At first?”
“Yes,” the Emperor continued with an unpleasant grin. “After meeting her highness in person, I’ve changed my mind. I prepared something else for her. A contract that I had that fool present as a geas of co-operation. It was a geas in appearance only, however. Woven between the lines was another spell, a charm. Not quite as powerful or lasting as a geas, but more convenient for me. Whereas a true geas expects knowing agreement to the terms of the oath, a curse like this can be enforced only with a signature. And from the moment of its signing, the princess would have lived and died only for my pleasure, 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 enamored by her highness? Even without much of a brain, her body is quite nice.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Izumi muttered with a sigh. “You were that guy’s boss, after all...”
“Hm? Whatever. Any other questions left? If not, will you answer one for me instead?”
“What’s that?”
“‘New York, 1930’—I heard your people measure time from the day some man they called ‘Messiah’ died? That this man was a prophesied king, who formed a pact with a god, and died to bring salvation to humankind? Do you know about that? Did it truly happen?”
“Beats me,” Izumi answered. “I’m not a Christian.”
“I see. Well, what a senseless fable,” the Emperor smirked. “But, in a way, isn’t that man a lot like me? We were both born to be rulers at the end of an age. Yes. For this world, I am something of a Messiah, destined to save mankind from obscurity...But unlike your savior, I shall live to tell the tale.”
Izumi said nothing. She only looked on, disgusted.
“Anyway, thank you kindly for this,” he continued. “It was a good chance to rehearse my speech, since I have to explain all this again to the princess. Can’t wait to see how she’ll look. 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...lame. Like, is anybody home?”
The woman from another world looked up at his majesty, her face altogether indifferent.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But you’re not a cute girl, so I could never take what you said very seriously. Your betrayal too is just so much air for me.”
The Emperor’s expression darkened.
“That so?” he dryly remarked. “Then it has come time for you to exit the stage.”
A self-content smile spreading across his lips, the Emperor snapped his fingers and gave the order.
“Carmelia. Finish her.”
Izumi didn’t move.
She thought not about running or fighting.
There was no way out left. 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. The downside was inescapable. No matter where Izumi would run now, 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 had done her duty.
Not that a master of magic needed such tricks.
That thousand-year-old sorceress could 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 situation in mind.
Therefore, all Izumi could do was accept her end.
It was a particularly crappy end. She definitely had regrets about it. But what could she do? Beholding the beauty of that ageless being had been the price she had received for her efforts. Sighing, she held onto her sword and waited for the deathblow, in whatever strange, unpredictable shape it should come.
And she waited.
However…
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? What are you waiting for?”
Finally, the sorceress could hold her poker face no more.
A faint smile on her lips, she 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 time to take corrective measures.”
“……….”
“………...”
His majesty’s face fell.
3
Upstairs from the Throne Room, up and up, floor after floor, the ruler of the Empire escaped his foe, eventually emerging on a terrace on the very 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, ultimately 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 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 bioelectric charge produced by 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 spontaneously growing wings that one could have escaped such a predicament, and this was not within his ability.
Thunder roared, illuminating the countless, callous spires of Selenoreion around, paying 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 hopelessness 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, a page of history was turned with a plunge of metal.