Agnes Geinard

It felt good.

The caress of the wind against my skin.

The fear and emotion borne out of a thirst for battle.

The surrounding din of carnage.

It was right, this place where I belonged.

Genius, monster, beast, they called me many names. And now some of them even turned out correct.

It was some time since I let loose, staking my might against the enemy’s. It was irrelevant who the foe was. Undead, monsters, demihumans - all were fine - I would smash them away without discrimination! Well, maybe I should care since I had become one of them…

But I didn’t.

Just how I didn’t care about right and wrong.

Instead, my strengthened legs pushed me ahead, splitting from the rest of the army. Then time slowed down, as my ability, Dance of the War Maiden, triggered.

With another breath, I pushed a new skill to activate, one that came with my change - a Naga-ancestry ability to harden my skin with metal. The mana covered my body, then seconds later attracted minuscule pieces of iron, covering me in a greyish sheen.

I checked my weapons, the wooden handles fitting snugly in my hands. Since I was fighting the undead I had chosen to forgo my usual dual-sword setup in favor of the mace and warhammer duo. No matter how many enchantments my cutting weapons had, nothing beat bashing damage when it came to total annihilation. Crushing bone and pulping flesh was useful when killing things that weren’t supposed to be alive.

The enemy lines were coming closer, even if in a comical fashion. Despite the undead being pretty much mindless, there was some recognition in their soul flames, as I was racing toward them like a boulder shot out of a catapult.

A scream cut through my concentration, carrying the voice of my beloved.

“Agnes! What are you doing? Come back!” He shouted, his face full of worry. It sparked a fire in my gut and brought a smile to my face. Still, I hardened my heart. I was not a pretty doll to be attended to. I was a warrior, and my chosen allies were dying and bleeding on the battlefield. I couldn’t just stand back and watch.

“Don’t worry Charlie!” I laughed. “I’ll deal with the pests and come back!” This answer didn’t dispel his worries. The fire in my heart grew larger. I sent him a kiss. “Deal with the Lich and we’ll talk!”

He cursed, unwillingly turning back to the greater threat. The tainted fire he commanded rose in the air.

I wanted to scream and hug him. To tell him how cool he was, how his power was his and his alone… To assuage his worries, and confirm that he was doing good. But now was not the time.

There were distractions to take care of.

Our enemies were not only the husk of hero Waltzer but also Charles's three brothers. Or former brothers? They were already dead, after all.

I didn’t even remember their names. Commander, Rogue, and Hammer. That was good enough.

I frowned.

Dealing with the Lich’s skeleton leader should be doable, but only if it was alone. Yet adding Geinard Kingdom's lackeys to the mix complicated the equation… I needed to distract or even eliminate them if possible.

A few groups of Uno’s dwarves were hurtling through our allies' lines to join up with me, but despite their stubbornness and experience, they wouldn’t be enough. Even the heavily armored troopers emerging from the dungeon were simply too weak in comparison to the Lich’s and Kingdom’s elites.

Wait.

Uno’s big one was also coming, surrounded by his honor guard - nasty little buggers. Guardian, that's what he was called, right? This one should be able to go toe to toe with one of Charles’ brothers.

What about the rest?

I shook my head. Two against four would have to be enough… no. It wouldn’t.

With a sigh, I reluctantly called on another skill. That one felt… dirty. Shout of the Dead was a summoning ability that I despised. It roused ‘allies of the Valkyrie’ from their slumber, forcing them to march again, helping the summoner. It was described in other words, as more flowery and chivalrous.

It was a lie. A forceful necromancy, ripping the dead from their well-deserved sleep.

But I was of a Geinard bloodline. I knew all about using shady tools to do what needed to be done.

Uno’s Guardian would take care of the Hammer.

And that meant the Rogue should clash with the Shield.

“Forgive me, Boulder!” I screamed into the air, rousing my body’ remaining mana. “I summon thee, oh friend! Shield against the darkness, the invincible defender, the enduring stubbornness made flesh! I call upon you once again, rise and protect those I held dear!”

A spectral portal appeared in the air, shimmering with a deadly coldness I normally wouldn’t think was possible. A second later large, armored foot crossed the boundary, dragging the flickering specter through the door.

With a grunt, the whole figure appeared in the living world, the same armored body, teeming with muscles and an eternal scowl etched on his face. Boulder. The man I had abandoned, the man who died in Uno’s dungeon… because of my excessive pride.

“Mirabelle’s peachy ass… really? Ya drag me here to do battle? After all that happened?” He spat on the ground. “You have no shame, girl.”

“I-I’m sorry.” I stammered. Gods! The guilt was worse than I thought. It would be better if the skill summoned a blank, not this… recreation. “I… there’s no choice. All that I’ve built is under threat. I will use any means to see it saved.” I caressed my abdomen. “No matter the cost. So… help me. Please.”

Boulder’s eyes bugged out - a comical sight, especially at odds with the solemn feeling that being a specter carried. He laughed. “Really? Really! Hahahaha! Sure… let’s have one last dance! Point me at the enemy.” He hollered.

We raced ahead, Uno’s armored knight and his shield-carrying retainers joining us on the way.

“Take care of the big one!” I ordered and Guardian nodded in acceptance. Wasting no more time his hulking form carved a path through the Kingdom’s and Lich’s forces. Soon he collided with a large, hammer-wielding skeleton.

Explosions and death followed.

“Now that’s a man’s man!” Boulder grinned before blocking a sneaky strike, the fire whip leaving a blue burning mark on the half-orc’s shield.

“Oi! Coward! Fight like a warrior!” The only answer was a throwing dagger that nearly took his eye out.

“Hey! Ya little shit!”

“C’mere!”

“I said COME HERE!” The rogue-warrior pair started to move away, spreading waves of destruction all around them. Neither enemy nor ally was safe from their contest.

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That left only Waltzer and the enemy Commander to contend with.

It was more doable but it still would be a hard fight, especially if they managed to join forces. I grumbled. Should I order the dwarves to buy me some time? The Geinard Kingdom's Commander was a mage, but his prowess was still nothing to scoff at. Any non-elite assaulting him would die.

The question was if they would die slowly enough. If they would buy me enough time.

I nearly didn’t live to hear the answer, as suddenly the sky started burning.

“Area spell incoming!” I screamed, scrambling for cover. Only, there wasn’t one. The Wastelands were kind of an empty place.

Still, there’s always a way.

I admit, I squeaked in surprise when the surrounding troops piled up on me, using their bodies as a living barrier. They didn’t scream even as they burned, as their armor, flesh, and bones were turned to charcoal.

After the onslaught ended I emerged - traumatized but alive.

Ignoring their fellow’s demise more dwarves were arriving, their weapons ready to strike at our enemies. What did Uno promise them, to throw their lives away so recklessly? They were seriously weird. Charles too was a bit too mum about them.

I shook my head. Focus. There was no need to wonder. The Commander-Mage had to go.

Just as I clenched my teeth and prepared to charge along them another massive spell started to coalesce. “Brighton’s shiny ass.” I cursed. “I already dislike your brothers, Charlie. They’re annoying.”

Thankfully I was spared from dealing with the undead mage because something ridiculous happened.

A man-shaped figure burst through the soil, exploding the top and covering his surroundings with earthen rain. My focus trembled as another fighter entered the board. Was it an enemy, or an ally? Or maybe just a third force?

After landing more or less gracefully the man in question dusted himself off meticulously. This meant I had a few seconds to take in his appearance.

The most eye-catching part of his clothes was certainly a white mask with a creepy smile, black eyes painted on it, and unruly brown hair sticking out. The rest of his uniform was non-descript - a black shirt with pants in the same color, leather boots, and gloves. No emblems or liveries were present, marking him as a suspicious person.

This was especially true, since darkness and earth mana swirled around his figure, signifying enormous power. Or lack of skill to fully control his power. The only clear advantage I could glean from his arrival was that he was a living being and thus somebody in opposition to our undead invaders.

He also somehow felt familiar, yet presented a complete mystery. At least until he opened his mouth.

“Hooooh. Just in time!” He raised his hands into the air with an exaggerated relief. “Don’t worry, fair lady, the reinforcements have arrived! Let me use my totally-not-overpowered magic to deal with the baddies!” I could easily imagine a childish grin forming under his mask.

I relaxed my stance. There was only one idiot who spoke like that.

“Uno? What the hell are you doing here?” I scoffed, trying to keep my face straight.

He reacted by tucking his arms against his chest and leaning back on one of his legs. “W-w-what! H-how do you know it’s me?! No, I mean.” He coughed. “I’m an ally of justice, lending my hand to the o-oppressed!” His voice cracked at the end.

I didn’t have the strength to play his game anymore. Still, one last poke wouldn’t hurt. “And what is your name, oh ally of justice?~~” I asked teasingly.

Uno froze. I could nearly see his panicked thoughts bouncing inside Dungeon’s empty skull. “Uhhhh… D-dos?” He stammered, clearly taken by surprise.

“Doesn’t matter.” I waved my hand. “I don’t even care how you did it. Or if it’s a human avatar or just a puppet. Just take care of the Mage, okay?” I pointed to the big spell once again coalescing over our heads. These undead don’t learn, do they? Uno… Dos, or whatever he wanted to be called had already demonstrated the ability to disperse strategic-class magic.

A moment later I heard Uno scoffing. “Rude.” It wasn’t clear if he was talking about my words or the enemy attacking during his speech. “Go away.” He waved his hand and a river of mana slammed into the spell, ripping it to pieces. “Wait, was I supposed to recite the spell? Or chant?” He asked, visibly confused.

“I don’t care. Just finish him.”

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way.” The dungeon-turned-man grumbled before sprinting away. Or should I say rode away? The earth under his boots turned watery as he slid ahead, one hand behind his back. This mode of transportation had a certain charm to it.

I slapped my cheeks. It was time to focus on my own enemy.

There was still a sea of undead between me and Waltzer’s husk. Worse, some of those consisted of the armored zombies brought in the second wave.

The silent dwarves and Guardians’ troops were flanking my sides, fluidly changing places like a well-oiled machine. The shield-bearers moved to the front, leaving gaps in their lines to allow the more assault-oriented warriors to dive in and out of enemy lines.

They stepped forward already crushing undead stupid enough to leave their ranks.

But it was not enough. I had maybe three dozen troops and the dead were still coming over the hill. We lacked power and simple quantity.

That was when the beastkin squads started to carve into the enemy. They were chaotic, unruly thrusts, often ending with damage on both sides. Yet there were some, who found the rhythm of battle, and some… some who embraced their new nature. I couldn't understand how Uno's researchers used my trophies and furs, but if donating them helped make new beastkin who was I to oppose that?

I observed as a tigerman roared to the skies, smashing undead with a comically large hammer. “Now, do it!” He ordered two of his comrades who in turn hurled the enemy into the air with their tower shields. The lizardmen licked their fangs, enduring the enemy’s relentless counter-assault.

“Ssssssteady!”

“Ssssssteady!” They hissed in unison. I could see their muscles straining.

“Maeve! Gooooo!” A few seconds later they fell to the ground, covering themselves in metal - just in time to avoid the fan-like spell burning all that it encountered.

The dead hissed and burned under the fiery magic, the powers that propelled them dispelled in a brutal instant.

“Yessss!” A small, childlike figure jumped into the air, her fox ears swaying in the wind. “Kill them, kill them all!” If only the words she spewed fit more with the innocent face.

All around us, the beastmen were baring their fangs, trading blood and sweat with the enemy. Slowly, ever so slowly we fought our way into the formation, as I consciously ignored Charles's battlefield brimming with flames, ice, and death.

Soon the target was in my sight.

A completely armored, nearly three-meter-tall skeleton dragging a monstrous two-handed sword on his shoulder. Henrik Waltzer, or what remained out of him after Lich’s ritual. The blue soul flame regarded me coldly as he watched his troops being cut down all around him.

Then, with a flourish he swept the surrounding troops, cutting bone and metal with ease. A few of them tried to block the attack, resulting in broken weapons and shields. Blood splashed on the thirsty earth.

More took their place, brandishing their weapons. Those fools.

“Retreat!” I ordered. There was no need to waste soldiers. This wasn’t something that could be overturned with simple willpower, no matter how many lives I would throw at the monsters standing before me.

The undead don’t feel pain. They don’t tire. They fulfill orders with a singleminded zeal.

But they are limited. Like moths in amber, forced to repeat moments, feelings, and decisions long forgotten. And once I had realized what his repetitions were I would win.

I just had to survive up til this moment.

Easy.

His sword whooshed once again and I sidestepped the blade, just as the deadly wind caressed my hair. I observed it in slow motion, noting that the angle and strength were completely the same as before.

I stepped into his zone of control, and the monstrous sword pierced forward, intent on impaling my body. I was too close to dodge, so instead my weapon shot ahead, colliding with the attack and setting it off-course.

For a second the air was filled with the sound of tortured metal. Waltzer’s weapon came out on top, with my mace sporting a large dent on its right side. That was how the competition between enchanted and un-enchanted iron ended up. I needed to remember that lesson.

The rest of the fight was a dance.

Two-handed swords were good for eliminating groups of enemies, not dueling. They are nothing more than awkward slabs of metal, serving as a shield and an instrument of destruction simultaneously.

Waltzer, despite being just a residue, fought well. It was expected of someone who was once a swordmaster.

He didn’t dodge, nor move from the spot, and instead focused on using his reach to block or deflect my attacks. I was like a fly buzzing around a horse’s ass.

The way he moved taught me more than I thought possible. It was easy to do so when failure meant death. A few times I could feel approaching demise as his sword carved away at my enhanced body, the protective iron pierced with ease, leaving only scars dripping with blood.

Still, the damage to my weapons and the feel of dancing on a tightrope wasn’t in vain.

My first successful attack nearly ended up in tragedy - I froze, surprised that it actually got through. That hesitation was paid for by another scar appearing on my arm, Waltzer’s sword nearly cutting it off. After that, it was a war of attrition.

I recognized his moves, avoiding them the best I could, and in return my weapons crushed armor and bone. Just like me, they were in shambles by the time I prepared to deliver a finishing blow.

Waltzer couldn’t move anymore, his arms and legs turned into powder. The armor he wore was in pieces, and the ground we fought on was filled with cracks and craters. Not to mention those unfortunate to get in our way. Despite his state, he glared defiantly at my equally hurt silhouette, or so I liked to imagine. After all, he didn’t speak a single word during our bout.

His soul flames dimmed and I prepared myself. Then, with a shout, I smashed him to smithereens.

“May you rest in peace.” I mumbled. This part of the battle was already finished.

Now… why the sky is on fire? And what’s with this golem-like thing rampaging through enemy and ally alike? What happened?