The night sky glowed bright as day. Streaks of red and orange drew out the silhouettes of the clouds hanging overhead, not to be mistaken for the columns of ash and smoke billowing from the village, down below.

Arrows fell like raindrops upon the streets. Most dug themselves harmlessly into the dirt, only to be pulled out by the embattled defenders and launched back in due course. Others enjoyed the blessing of the Goddess of Luck, finding their mark and piercing through shoulders and skulls, claiming more and more lives as the unending barrage continued.

A squad of these soldiers garrisoned themselves inside a house, using it as cover whilst pelting their assailants with their crossbows.

"Eat this, Eastal trash!" one of them shouted - a man, tall and skinny - as he let loose a heavy bolt out the window.

"Gods, do you really have to shout every time you shoot, Marco?" asked another, sat on the side with the only female soldier in their group.

"No! But it keeps my spirit up, so shove off, Phil!" His eyes soon narrowed as he delivered his retort. "And why the hell are you two just sitting around!?"

The woman replied, "But you have the only crossbow in our squad. If you want, I'll trade you for it."

"Get your own! Besides, we don't have enough ammo to waste on untrained shots!"

Her eyes rolled to the side.

The man beside her then shrugged. "So, it's best if we sit tight and conserve our energy in case of a melee, right? Gotcha."

"Ngh...!" The crossbowman ground his teeth from pent-up stress, before releasing another bolt. "Die, Eastal bastards!"

Despite the carnage outside, with screams melding with the distant, roaring blaze, the house's interior was as serene as could be. Indeed, after a few moments, yet another soldier emerged from the kitchen, with a plate of bread and salted meat in hand.

"Oh, you were cooking?" Phil asked as he grabbed the first bite of the charred jerky. "Mm... not bad. I'd have this instead of camp gruel."

"Haha, thanks..." the man softly replied, rubbing the back of his neck, "it's the only thing I can do right now. I didn't get any crossbow training either."

"Nah, this is plenty. Thanks, Louis."

Meanwhile, Marco interjected whilst cocking his weapon, "Why not go out there and look for crossbows or ammo someone dropped?"

"Are you kidding?" Phil quickly retorted, "Do you hear what's going on outside? We'd get pelted in an instant!"

"You have a shield, don't you!?"

"What this little thing?" He lifted his wooden targe over his shoulder. "Good luck protecting more than half your body with this."

The soft man then added, "Well, we're just Milice Citoyenne, after all..."

Meanwhile, the woman stared out the front door, left slightly ajar. Arrow shafts poked up from the empty streets like weeds, while a couple of shadows ran hither and dither amidst the chaos.

"Still..." she then muttered, "I could use a crossbow right about now..."

"Tired of sitting around, Mika?" Phil asked. "I'll come with you."

"At least grab a bite before you go." Louis brought the plate closer to her as she stood up.

"Thanks. But I'll have one later."

"Hm? Finally going out?" said Marco, who was now also taking a break, "Grab me some more bolts, will you? Crossbow bolts, mind. Short and fat. I can't use the regular arrows those Eastals shoot."

"Should we get a bow on the way, then?"

"Don't bother," he said before turning to the side and mumbling, "I can't use one, anyway."

"Oka-"

But just as they were about to open the door, a bright flash of light erupted from the window.

"Ugwaaaah!" Marco screamed.

A jet of fire had streamed in and, in an instant, lit the interior aflame.

"Holy shit! Their mages are already this close!?" he added as he scampered towards the rest, "Hey, wait up! I'm coming with you! This house is fucked!"

But as soon as they stepped out onto the street, they finally caught a glimpse of true carnage. Charred bodies laid on the side of the road, just out of sight from any window. On the far end of the road, the main body of the Milice garrison had formed a battle line and engaged the Eastal infantry in a melee.

"Crap!" Phil screamed, "They've already closed in from that side!?"

Then, all of a sudden, a deluge of water burst from one of the sideroads, washing away a dozen or so defenders, screaming and kicking in an effort, however futile, to resist the tide.

And right behind them, a group of Eastals, identified by their red uniform and glimmering scale shirts, lunged right in, brandishing their curved blades upon the stunned men and women of the Raffalian garrison.

"Damn it!" Phil immediately started running while he spoke, "They've broken through! Louis, Mika, let's go!"

"Right!"

The two quickly followed.

"Gods-damned mages!" the crossbowman cursed while straining his shoulder to quickly reload his weapon, "I'll get them for this!"

"Oooooooaaaaah!" Phil screamed as the three charged headlong onto the enemy's heavily armored foot soldiers. At the same time, a crossbow bolt whizzed overhead, finding its mark squarely on the chest of a robed mage at the back of the enemy formation.

"Alright!" Marco pumped his fist.

The sound of battle rang in Mika's ears, drowning out even her own thoughts.

It might not have been the wisest choice to pick such a low-ranked soldier to use as a 'face'....

Sparks grazed her very eyelashes as her sword clashed with that of the light-skinned Eastal before her.

But if I desert now, I will need to infiltrate the camp all over again - and I'm not sure if I can find another compatible body so easily.

One by one, the downed Raffalian soldiers got back on their feet and rejoined the fray.

Tsk. I shouldn't be helping the enemy, but if we don't get out of here alive...

"Gyaaaaaaaaah!" An ear-piercing scream assaulted her senses.

Her hairs stood on end as the soldier beside dropped to the floor, her shoulder, mangled by a fierce downward cut that tore right through the steel breastplate.

Phil grunted, "Shit! These guys are tough!"

"We're outmatched!" Louis added, "Our swords can't even scratch that damn armor!"

"Meanwhile, theirs can cleave right into ours with a good enough hit, huh? So much for 'Raffalian steel'."

"Can't help it, we're just Milice Citoyenne..."

"We gotta run. Where's the company commander?"

"I have no idea..."

"Guh... No one to say if could retreat, huh? Speaking of which, weren't we supposed to have some sort of support from the regular army? The heck happened to that!?"

"Nope. No idea. Sorry."

"Tsk! No deployment to the front, my ass!"

Mika's brows furrowed. "We just have to survive, no matter what." She then bent down, grabbing a bundle of crossbow bolts that the soldier beside her dropped.

"Heh! Easier said than done!"

"Get ready!" She adjusted her fingers over the hilt of her sword, trying to get a feel for its center of mass.

It's too heavy... and I'm not specialized in close combat, either...

Likewise, the enemy before her lifted his blade over his shoulder, poised to brandish it anew.

But for this level of prey, I could just take my time and not get hit. Our numbers will account for the difference.

And, like a flash of lightning, she struck.

Earlier that day, in the Raffalian camp, the sub-commanders of the 3rd Battalion and its attached formations, including the Milice of three different cities, gathered in the command tent, hosted by the marshall of the Flanneries Campaign, Senator Renault.

"Gentlemen," his voice, deep and imposing, boomed in the packed space, "justice is at hand! In mere hours we shall commence the scheduled liberation of the Flanneries from under the yoke of Imperial occupation. I shall now be taking inventory of each unit's readiness." He then scanned, slowly, all the faces in the room, aside from his Lieutenant, standing behind him. "Of course, I expect all of your men are ready to deploy at any time."

The atmosphere grew heavier by the second.

Despite this, one man, in particular, seemed entirely unfazed. He who wore, without doubt, the most expensive suit of armor in that room, lifted his chin and responded first, "Of course, the Knights of Zerillion are at full combat readiness. Deploy us anywhere, any time, and we shall bring victory."

"Mm!" He nodded vigorously. "As expected. I'm counting on you."

He then turned his stiff gaze toward the next closest man.

"Yes, sir," said a rather stocky man in field uniform but without armor, "the engineers of the 56th Anti-Mage Company are setting up the field ballistas as we speak."

"Hm," he grunted, clealy less pleased than he was previously, "your company arrived last, but is arguably the most important. Easter is known for its sizable contingents of atelier mages. So much so that we expect them to deploy even to such a small fortification. Hurry the construction! We cannot risk advancing without your support!"

He then stiffened into salute. "Understood, your honor!"

The man on the other side of the room, wearing a purple and grey mantle, then spoke, "Your honor, the 9th Sorcerer Squadron has finished setting up the ateliers covering the frontline and both flanks of our camp, however, to besiege the Eastal Fort itself, a forward atelier must be established."

"Granted." The response was swift and decisive. "Have a mage team ready to deploy behind our main thrust so they can prepare it immediately."

He then replied with a slight nod, "Yes, your honor."

"Sir," another one raised his hand, asking, "my scouts have reported that the residents of the village of Tybolg are still to evacuate. We may set aside a detachment to-"

He quickly lifted his open hand, interjecting, "No need. The village of Tybolg will be ignored. The plains north and northwest are the perfect places to project the power of our heavy infantry and cavalry. Once we evict those rats from their toy fort, the village and its citizens, as a whole, shall be returned to our fair republic! Thus, all shall be set right."

The man seemed hesitant, but nonetheless replied, "As you say, your honor."

One-by-one, this continued, until the senator had created a mental image of the upcoming battle.

His assets included:

Two companies of assault infantry - heavily armored and outfitted in modern Raffalian style with its own complement of crossbowmen and combat mages.

Three companies of line infantry - the trusted backbone of the Raffalian army, formed around combined formations of swords and crossbows which served as the decisive factor to the great counterattack in the previous war against Easter.

Three companies equivalent of militiamen, comprised of volunteers hailing from as many cities. One squadron of atelier sorcerers, capable of pooling their magic into grand spells that can lay waste on a mere wooden fort, or an army foolish enough to stray in their range.

One company of light cavalry, mostly comprised of auxiliaries from the northwestern barrens - a rough land that bred tough men and mounts.

And finally, a platoon's size of magic knights, in the form of the Order of Zerillion, headed up by the invincible Saint Georges.

Meanwhile, the milice scouts had reported an estimate of one-to-two hundred soldiers, arriving at the enemy fort until today, around 30 of which were mounted.

In total, that brings the enemy's numbers to around 500-600. In other words, we outnumber them by a factor of three.

His lips, covered by his fingers, widened imperceptibly.

Classical tomes suggest that when besieging, one should outnumber the enemy at least five-to-one. However, times have changed since the collapse of the last Dwarven Kingdom! Rafale is entering an age of enlightenment! An age not of lost, mystical artifacts, but of strength of arms and of heart! And of course, the strength of steel that bonds the two!

And thus, he nodded one last time. "Mm! This shall be an overwhelming victory!"

I'll show you all - my naysayers. This battle shall be my stepping stone. And once I have proven my mettle, once and for all, the senate can no longer ignore my wisdom and, finally, we shall invade Londinium! That- that shall be my Alfheimr. The story that shall be passed through the generations. And it shall be I, not the hero Lucius, for whom songs shall be sung in tribute!

As he, who finally reunites the old Empire of Mank-

Then, just as he was about to complete his internal monologue, another voice spoke up from the gallery.

"Will... the Spear Maiden truly not take part at all, your honor...?" Asked the commander of the cavalry company.

The mere mention of her name was enough to sour is mood once more. "She said so herself. In any case, it is foolish to involve the legendary heroes in matters between humans. That she revealed such fickleness is just proof of this."

Besides, if she is allowed to take the field, then, naturally, all the glory would shift to her! This is, in fact, quite a fortunate turn of events!

This interruption was followed by another when a soldier entered the tent in great haste, claiming to have an urgent mesage for the Captain of the Milice of Gallic.

The other captains castigated him but he insisted on its importance, and was thus allowed to deliver it, in whisper.

The room stood silent as tiny wisps of the boy's voice filled the air, undiscernable aside from his anxiety.

And thus, after a few moments, the boy apologized to everyone and quickly made his exit, leaving his captain utterly stunned.

Irritated, the senator asked, "What is it, Captain Fouchard?"

"Y-your honor, I have an ugent matter to report."

His eye twitched. "Well spit it out, then!"

"Um... perhaps it would be better to speak in private?"

By this point, he was mere moments from blowing his temper. "Is it urgent or is it not!?" he screamed, "If it is urgent, speak immediately!"

"Y-yes, your honor!" He swallowed his breath. "S-scouts have reported - the next supply wagon has been... attacked by bandits."

The air stood still as eyes widened and gasps were taken. On his part, despite remaining silent, one could clearly see a nerve bulging out of Senator Renault's forehead.

He continued, hesitantly, "We have lost the entire shipment, and current food stocks cannot hold out until the next carav-"

The furious senator slammed his hand onto the table.

It was as though the ground itself shook from the fury that blow imparted.

Even the normally nonchalant Saint Georges could not help but glance anxiously at the copper-skinned titan of a man standing right beside him.

He took a long breath through his nose.

"I see."

Then, he slowly let it back out.

"Captain d' Robert," he said whilst still keeping his head turned down.

"Yes, sir."

"We shall need that detachment of milice to evacuate the citizens of Tybolg."

"...ah. Yes, sir. I have them ready for muster."

The senator lifted his face and stared intensely into the captain's eyes. "Send them out, immediately," he then said with a dire tone in his voice, "and order them to divest all the food, water and other supplies that can be recovered."

The man's expression darkened, but nonetheless, he responded with a salute. "As you will... your honor."

It is too early. My plans shall not be affected by such a minor setback.

"Hmm..." He rubbed his chin as he stared down at the contours of the empty table before him. Next, he turned to the Mage Captain and said, "with regard to your field atelier - if you should construct it within the village of Tybolg, would it be close enough to attack the fort?"

"Hm..." The sorcerer brought his fingers over his lips and thought. "Perhaps. If it was to support a field operation, then the village would be too far away. But if it is simply bombarding a static target, it should do."

"Mm! That is fine!"

Just when it seemed that the briefing was about to reach its closure, the senator's lieutenant stepped up and whispered to his ear, "Your honor, would it not be prudent to have a formation on standby to support the milice securing Tybolg?"

"Hmph..." he responded with a low grumble, "if only our opponent would be so cooperative as to sally out and face us down in open battle, then we would not need to plan our moves at all! But it's fine. You are young and talented, but lack experience. And the first thing you learn from experience is to never assume that your enemy is stupid."

"Hmm..." He turned his head down and reflected on those words for a moment. He then nodded, as if coming to an understanding, and added, "Thank you for your kind advice, sir. Indeed, if the enemy sallies out, we may be able to pursue and destroy them with only our superior numbers, not to mention the quality of our troops."

"Mm. You learn well."

"However, I was simply worried for the success of their mission. It would seem as if our entire campaign is currently resting on the supplies gathered by the Milice d' Moyenne. If they are attacked, and the supplies, lost, then we might have no choice but to withdraw, eschewing even the opportunity to pursue them back to the fortress..."

The realization hit the senator like a blunt object to the side of the head. "M-mm... I see. You are wise to be cautious. Yes. In any case it should not be a matter if we keep a company on standby in case of such a wild happenstance." He then cleared his throat, raising his voice so that he was, again, audible to all in the room, "I shall allow it. The 80th Line Company shall enter high alert! Monitor the situation around Tybolg and intercept any attempts at disrupting evacuation of the village!"

Stolen story; please report.

And with that, the briefing ended, and the operation began.

"Gnnngh!" Blood spurted from the man's mouth as he grunted, covering Mika's face in crimson spatter as she pulled the blade back out of his neck.

And so he fell, face down, onto the trampled dirt, whereupon a pool of his own blood had already spilled, moments ago. There, he joined several others, both Raffalian and Eastal alike.

"Hah... hah..." Phil panted, clutching his arm dripping red from his elbow down. "We... we won...!"

"Yeah..." Louis stumbled towards him, only to fall to one knee midway. "Urk!"

"Hey, are you alright?" Mika was quick to lift him back up, draping his arm over her shoulder as she carried him to one side, allowing him to sit against a wall.

He pressed his bloody hand into his lower flank, stemming the flow of blood from a gash he'd suffered from the previous battle.

"Louis!" Marco soon came, holding a bandage and the sole ration of magic herbs for their entire squad. "You did good. Now sit tight. I'll fix you up."

With the young man in good hands, Mika left them to rejoin Phil. "How about you? Is your arm okay?"

"Yeah," he said, flexing his forearm up and down, "it stings when I move it, but it should be fine with just a bandage."

She sighed. "Okay."

The two then observed as, all around them, the battle raged on. At the end of the road, the main body of the milice was still holding on, despite the bodies piling up. Meanwhile, dozens of houses had been set alight, all of which represented a stronghold that their company had garrisoned or a supply dump for later transport.

"Good gods..." Phil muttered, "so this is what war looks like, huh...?"

"Mm." Mika nodded with melancholy tinged in her eyes.

"Hey." His voice faltered, leaving only a wisp of breath to carry his words. "If we get out of here alive... want to start a bakery or something...?"

"...eh?" Emotions churned inside her. She wasn't some unfeeling machine, after all, despite how hard she tried to style herself as such. And yet, through rigorous training and the subscription to certain perspectives of thought, she was able to, at the very least, shield her expression from reflecting these thoughts.

"Go on and laugh," he said, despite snickering himself, "But yeah, I've had enough of this soldier business."

"No, but... that... was fast."

"Hah. It's easier than you think. I mean, look at this shit. Do you really think I could take it easy in a place like this?"

"Haha." She subdued her laughter. "So you just want to slack off, after all."

"Exactly."

"Silly..."

"But you know..." He then looked at her with a tranquil expression. "...I didn't know you were so good at fighting."

She flinched.

Her heart raced and her face heated up.

He had noticed it - the one thing she wished he was dumb enough to ignore.

But I had no choice - I had to fight seriously, or I'd lose my life with these people.

"Well... you know...." And so, her mind flew into overdrive as she thought of a way to talk herself out of her predicament, even to the point of breaking into a cold sweat. "It's training! I've been taking training seriously, that's all."

"Ahah, yeah, I could see that. But you threw away your shield around the middle. Why d'you do that?"

"A-ahh... that shield was always a bit too heavy for me. It was already getting banged up anyway, so I thought I'd-"

Then, right as her story was falling apart, she was saved by a loud, distant crash. Though when she turned around to look, she immediately regretted it, wishing she could just keep struggling with her excuse instead.

The milice had finally broken, the defenders scattering across the road. Worse still was the cause of this breakthrough - a column of horsemen armed with lances.

And they were galloping at full speed right towards them.

"Shit!" Phil was quick to react, pulling Mika with him. "Run! Marco, grab Louis and get into that house!"

The thundering footfalls of thoroughbred horses, grown in Easter's endless steppes, shook the very earth beneath their feet. They grew louder and louder each moment, like the harbinger of calamity; the reaper himself mowing down man and woman alike in a cascade of screams and sundered flesh.

Yet, despite this, the loudest thing that Mika could hear was Phil screaming at the top of his lungs, right beside her ear. "Waaaaahahahahaaaa!!"

She could almost feel the horses breathing over her neck.

It was as if any second, a spear would stake her back-to-front, piercing her heart.

But right as she heard the violent bray of a warhorse just behind her ear, Phil leapt into the door, held open by Marco, bringing her along for the ride.

"Oof!"

And with a loud bang, their crossbowman closed the door behind them.

Seconds passed like minutes as the muffled hooves trundled outside the door and soon passed. And then, after a while, they, too, faded into the distance.

And then...

Silence.

It was as if time itself had frozen.

None knew how long they held their breaths, but when all was said and done, they all let out a concerted sigh.

They then looked at one another, relieved, allowing themselves a silent chuckle in lieu of recent events.

Mika had landed hard on their belly, knocking the wind out of her for an entire second. It even took her a while to realize that whatever she fell on, it wasn't the stone floor.

Indeed, when she regained her senses, she was safely in Phil's arms, who had landed back-first. She quickly pushed herself off, asking, "Are you alright? That must have hurt."

"Y-yeah... my spine is killing me."

She snickered. "But thanks."

The four holed themselves up deeper inside the house, keeping themselves quiet in a dark corner, straining their ears for the noise outside.

"Shit..." Marco grumbled. "They're scouring the fucking village, those bastards...!"

"Shh." Mika said, "we'll get back at them later. But if they find us now, we're goners."

"Goddamnit...!" He dropped his face into his hands. "Who'd have thought we'd die here, skulking like fucking rats...?"

Phil then brought his hand down on his shoulder, shaking him from the impact. "Hey, we're not gonna die. Right? We're going back to Moyenne and have a nice, cool drink! Together."

"Tsk. At least tell me that when I still have some bolts in my quiver."

"Heh! We'll get you some. Don't worry!"

At that moment, they listened to the very sound that they never wished to hear. That of the door opening in the living room.

Mika clenched her teeth while Marco subdued his voice.

"Shit...!" he wailed, "It's over!"

"Ngh... everyone, stay here." said the swordsman with the bloody arm, leveraging his knees instead to stand up.

"Phil...?" Louis outstretched his hand, but his friend was out of reach. "But... you're injured!"

"I'm fine! I can still put down an Eastal or two with just one good arm!"

"Dumbass." Mika then stood up, dragging him back down onto his bottom in the process.

"Ow! Hey, what are-"

"Shh," she glared at him, saying, "Louis is right. You'll only get in the way with that injury. Leave it to me."

"Wait, Mik-" He tried to interject, but was entirely ignored.

"Marco, can I have your crossbow?"

"What?" He frowned. "I don't care, but I'm out of ammo."

"Don't worry, I have some."

"Huh...? Then just give them to m-"

"Trust me," she firmly said, reaching out with an open hand.

He then clicked his tongue, grumbling, "You better give it back in one piece. Hear?"

She snickered. "Mm."

As she walked away, Phil still tried to reach her with a weakening voice. "Mika..."

And in response, she turned around, just once, and said, "Don't worry. I'll be back soon." She then cocked the bowstring, locking it in place before slinging the whole machine on her shoulder. "I promise."

And so, she entered the living room and faced their visitor.

A large man wielding a shield and hand axe stood across the room. Though he hid his behind a visored helm, she knew for sure that his gaze was fixated on her. His scale armor gave off a sharp glint from the reflected light seeping in from the window. It was the same sort that all Eastal footsoldiers they had fought today wore.

Should I see if he would let me go? I might convince him that I'm a spy or a deserter... but either way, I'd probably be taken prisoner instead. And I'd lose access to the Raffalian camp.

Looks like I really have no other choice...

Without exchanging words, the two understood what was to happen next.

The man closed the door behind him. Perhaps to prevent her escape. Perhaps to prevent others from intruding. Maybe even both.

Either way, the two began to circle the room, maintaining their distance from the other while they sized up their opponent.

Easter Empire, Western Legion footpad. Standard training. Standard equipment, all provided by the imperial satellite of Griffonland.

She unslung her crossbow, resting its full weight on her outstretched arm.

Scale armor, made of tempered steel. A bolt can penetrate at close distance.

With that in mind, she grabbed a handful of bolts from the pack she picked up earlier. She loaded one onto the crossbow, while the others, she squeezed between her fingers.

But the hauberk only covers the torso. I can use my sword against the arms; the legs. However-

The man entered his ready stance. Bringing the shield in front of him, he crouched down, hiding most of his body behind its considerable size.

That's the real problem.

She scanned her surroundings. The house had mostly been looted. All that remained were a couple of chairs and a short table.

Her eyes narrowed.

Their silence fed the oppressive tension. Without even fighting yet, sweat had already accumulated on their skins.

And then, mid-beat, the man stomped his foot to the ground, launching himself forward, shield in full presence to hide his weapon arm.

In response, she bent her body lower. And with a wide sweep, she kicked the table between them.

Startled, the man saw this and planted his feet into the floor, stopping himself from tripping.

But whilst he was focused on the table, Mika had already leapt off of it, lifting her sword high in the air, such that it scraped a fine line onto the ceiling.

The man raised his shield over his head to intercept.

This blinded him, however, and so while he wasn't looking, she threw away her sword, and instead grabbed onto the rim of the shield, tucked her legs in and placed her entire falling weight onto his arm.

"Ngh!" the man grunted as she dragged him all the way down to the floor, knocking him off balance and thus preventing a counterattack.

She soon landed on her hip, with the man exposed before her.

The loaded bolt had been knocked off during her flighty maneuver, and thus, she grabbed another off her fingers and set that in. And in the span of a split-second, the crossbow mechanism sprang into action, letting loose a heavy metal dart with a thundering twack.

"Grrgh!" The man heaved as his scales shattered from the impact. The bolt embedded itself on his upper torso, close to the shoulder.

But the battle was not done yet.

Mika rolled away, regaining her posture as quickly as she could, stomping down on the crossbow's front spur and pulling the string back with all her might.

Meanwhile, the man stood up, dropping the shield from his limp arm and gasping intensely as he wrung his fingers tightly around his axe.

Her brows furrowed. Loading another bolt into the mechanism, she quickly took aim as the man charged to close the distance.

The next bolt landed square on his chest, staggering him, though only for a moment as he then, fueled by rage, pressed on his attack, brandishing his axe straight at her.

With no time to cock another shot, she held the crossbow up like a staff, blocking his blow by the haft, avoiding damage to her own machine.

He then drove his knee upward. But she had read his next move, lifting her own to block most of the impact - granted, it still hurt her far more than it did him.

The close-quarter brawl continued with Mika avoiding the man's attacks while parrying and counter-bashing him with the crossbow.

All the while, she remained on the defensive, taking blow after blow while biding for time.

Her arms and legs were getting sore, and she had suffered some dark patches of skin from the prolonged beating.

It was then that the back of her leg bumped into something, shifting it off with a loud scratching noise.

Her shoulders jolted at the realization.

The man soon followed up with a furious swing, attempting to slice off her neck.

She was quick to avoid it, as always, but this time, she reached her arm down and, simultaneously, grabbed the spine of the chair at her feet and swung it around.

It caught the man's arm in the space between the backrest and the base, allowing her to wrench it back using the leverage of her entire body weight.

"Aaagh!"

While he struggled to get loose, she then slipped her leg in front of his, tripping him.

And with a roaring thud, the man fell belly-first onto the floor.

Grabbing the opportunity, she then mounted his back, before striking the crossbow against the back of his head, holding it in place as she cocked its mechanism.

And, using the last bolt in her fingers, she loaded her weapon, aiming its tip squarely at his brain.

In that very instant, the world once more slipped into silence.

Even the man, panting slowly, calmly, had ended his resistance.

Both of them knew that the outcome had been reached.

Amidst heavy breaths, she wiped the sweat off her forehead, and slowly increased the pressure on the trigger.

Slowly.

Slowly, the lever inched to release.

She was a mere hair's breadth away from ending the man's life when, all of a sudden, the door slammed open.

Startled, she quickly refocused her aim on the person who just entered the door.

But the man's armor was not the one she was expecting.

Instead, it was a smooth breast plate, with segmented sheets of steel bringing up the joints.

Indeed, it was a face she recognized.

"Hey!" the man yelled, "are you milice!?"

Suddenly, her arms grew weak, she soon lowered her weapon.

"Y-yes..."

"Merciful Saint Laeticia," he let out a sigh of relief, "I thought we wouldn't find any more survivors. But you're safe now! The 80th Line Company is here, and we have routed the Easter Army from Tybolg!"

Then, like ants crawling out from the woodwork, Phil, Marco and Louis emerged from the back room.

"H-hey...!" Phil wailed, "that uniform... you're the regular army!"

"Oh!" The man grinned. "There's a bunch of you here! That's great to see. Can you move by yourselves? We've opened a corridor back to the camp. You should all get out of here and rest!"

"Gods," Marco cried, "I never knew how happy I could be to see you guys!"

"Mika..." Louis met eyes with her. "Did you... all by yourself?"

"Huh...?" She glanced down at the man beneath her, still lying flat on the floor.  "A-ahh... I guess I won. Lucky!" She said, sticking her tongue out.

"Mika...!" Phil ran over to her with eyes ready to burst in tears. "You're okay! Hahahahaha! That's amazing!"

"Hey, is that Eastal still alive?" the soldier asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"Alright. Don't touch him. The marshall wants prisoners. Get out of here, you guys. The 80th will take care of everything."

He didn't need to tell them. All four of them wanted nothing more than to get out of that hellhole.

Though they weren't quite ready for the sight that they were to behold outside.

Bodies littered the streets, now painted more in blood red than yellow dust. Some were broken in ways none of them ever imagined possible. Some were mixed and mashed together like a salad dressed in crimson. It was such that Louis had to close his eyes and ask Marco to carry him back to the camp.

"Man..." Phil whimpered, "how did it come to this?"

No one answered his question. No one thought he was looking for one anyway.

After a short while, however, Mika finally broke her silence.

"We've been used as meat shields," she said.

"Huh?"

"Of course the enemy will attack us if we tried to capture this village. They used us as bait to get Easter's forces out of the fort."

"Oh... I didn't think of that." He chuckled. "You're pretty clever after all, Mika."

"You're... not frustrated...?"

"Hmm... not too much, I guess? I mean, I get that we're just pawns in the kooky plans the big wigs come up with."

"Mm..."

"I might get a bit more angry if you got hurt, but well, I guess I'm just relieved that we're all alive! You. Louis. Marco. I'm glad we could still have that cool drink back at Moyenne after all this is over."

Once more, Mika's expression darkened.

"I don't drink though..." Louis muttered.

"Well, it's a good time to start, don't you think? So we can forget... All this."

Phil then looked up at the cloudless sky, now filled with stars. The others, too followed suit.

"Yeah..." Louis then said, "that sounds nice."

And so, they all returned to the camp, rejoining the surviving forces of Moyenne's Milice Citoyenne.