"Take cover!"
With one deafening scream, the handful of mages still standing atop the magic circle scampered into a narrow ditch, taking refuge behind its raised earthen wall.
"Haa... haa..." their breaths lingered in each other's ears, fueling the atmosphere of choking anxiety.
Mere moments passed like minutes as each waited with bated breath for the splintering crack of first impact.
They looked at each other, then at the empty dirt before them.
Nothing.
And right when they least expected it...
A heart-stopping thump.
Then another.
And another.
Soon, the ground itself quivered from the blistering thud of a dozen bolts, landing in close succession. Dirt and wood chips shot over the wall, raining into the trench as the volley ran its course.
And then...
...it subsided.
After a few seconds of silence, a man rose among them, the only one not garbed in robes, but a simple red shirt. He peeked his head just over the parapet and looked around. After confirming the coast was clear, he took a deep breath and yelled, "Back to stations! Double-time!"
He joined the mages as they climbed back over the top to man their posts.
The magic circle had seen a lot of wear. Part of its circumference had faded away from the coming and going of the very mages using it. Some runes had been outright obliterated by stray bolts crashing in its perimeter. Worse still, part of it had been tainted from char and dried blood left over from earlier attacks. And yet, once the mages began channeling their magic, the lines drawn in the sand still flickered to life. Siphoning each mage's magical power, its runes glowed in their myriad colors, like a circuit breathed life. The mage at the center, a woman, whose cowl covered her face, lifted both her hands in the air as she routed this magic through the unbroken pieces of the puzzle, and collected it at her fingertips.
She chanted, "Come forth, Flame torrent!"
All at once, all the magic concentrated in the atelier gushed through her body, setting her very soul alight. She grit her teeth. The pain was visible from her expression.
Waving her fingers in a spiral, magic soon followed, coalescing in the air between her hands, and slowly, the technicolor haze collapsed into a twisting ball of flame.
It started as a mere point, the light of which being hardly visible in broad daylight, but grew with tremendous speed as she pulled her arms apart.
"Haaaaa!"
Finally, the whirling mass unraveled, unleashing a swirling jet of flame into the sky.
It arced just below the clouds, like a shooting star falling to earth.
But even before the spell had landed on its pre-determined target, the next one was already underway.
"Crystalize," she said, clasping her hands forward, "Azure Lance!"
60...! 61, 62...
The man observed the bombardment downrange. What looked to be a majestic feat of sorcery up-close hardly registered as a poof when impacting from such a distance. From here, men were like ants, and he was in possession of a magnifying glass.
"Atelier!" he yelled, sweeping his hand forward to relay his intent, "Change target! North! Enemy rear cluster! Infantry!"
"North!" the woman echoed, "Rear cluster!"
Without further delay, the next spell was cast.
"Flatten them!" she chanted anew, "Stone Sling!"
Meanwhile, out in the field, the lines remained roughly equal. Their infantry, arranged in solid, homogenous blocks, commanded greater cohesion and control in comparison to the diffuse formations fielded by the Raffalians - an anticipated tactic given Easter's local magical superiority. As a result, they held their ground despite fighting a more numerous foe.
...118 ... 119... 120!
In the distance, dark streaks leapt into the sky.
Right on time!
"Take cover!" he again yelled.
And once more, the mages fled their beleaguered atelier, joining the captain on their way to the dugout.
Hm. We've caught their rhythm. Now it doesn't matter how long they keep it up. The best they could do is suppress us for a few seconds, and then...
His brows furled.
As the incoming volley flew closer, he noticed something rather off.
Are those... on fire? But they've already ranged-
And in the split second where the projectiles passed the great magic barrier, instinct suddenly jolted him onto his feet.
"Ngh-!"
He planted his feet into the ground and turned around, meeting head-on the mages about to jump in. "Back! Back!" he screamed, "Everybody, out of the trenches!"
"C-Captain!?" the dumbfounded mage froze in front of him.
"Don't stand around like an idiot!" He screamed as he shoved him along, "I said run! Disperse!"
Though her expression still conveyed sheer bafflement, the mage and her cohort did as their captain ordered. At the same time, the mages of the second atelier, under Ernst's command, also heard the blistering order, and were already sprinting the other way.
And not a moment too soon.
Raging flames showered their dugouts as clay pots, filled with burning oil, splashed the ground, incinerating everything it touched.
Their escape was marked with screams and wails as each sprinted every which way to safety, but fortunately, no one suffered any injuries.
"Oh Gods!" a mage screamed, "The atelier is burning!"
In spite of the lingering shock, there was no time to lose - the battle would not wait for them to recover.
And so, without missing a beat, the Captain gathered his men and gave his orders, "Put out those fires! Double time! No water spells! You'll wash away the magic circle! Karl, send the advance order to our reserves up the hill! Direct them to the plains! We need to buy time to repair the atelier!"
"Got it!" replied the man with the soft voice.
Moments later, a green flare shot up from the mage's hand, arcing up and over the fort. With a swipe of his other hand, he then created another one of the same color, and hung it above their formations of infantry fighting below.
Then, just as he was taking stock of the situation, a soldier came running up to him from behind, yelling, "Sir! Urgent report!"
"What!? Go ahead!"
"Our scouts have spotted some movement in the forest, pushing north! By their speed, we believe it may be enemy cavalry!"
"Forest!? Guh! Shit, we're running our reserves dry!"
Karl then stepped close to his side, and muttered, "Orders?"
"Tsk! No choice! Can't let them flank our infantry! Bring the lancers to high alert on that flank!"
"Yes, sir."
Alas, with his commands relayed via the corresponding flares, all he could do now was wait... and pray.
What intense pressure...! At this rate, our lines will buckle just from their weight of numbers! We might not even last the-
Mid-thought, his spine tingled as piercing screams suddenly assaulted his ears.
"Get back!" the female mage yelled. "Disperse!"
It took a moment before he realized what had happened.
"Shit!" he cried, "Everyone, abandon the ateliers! Hurry!"
With so much going on at once, he had neglected his mental timer for the enemy's siege weapons.
It was a mistake paid by his men.
The flames caught two mages. Luckily, there were more than enough left to put them both out, but with the burns they sustained in that short span of absolute panic, there was no way for them to continue combat.
"Gods-damned Raffalian frogs!" He then jabbed his finger at one of the remaining mages. "You, drag those two back to the fort! Everyone else, continue the repairs! Prepare to evacuate on my signal! Oh-" he turned again to the mage who was already on his way up the slope, "And if you see Hans, kick him the fuck out of the fort and tell him to get his yellow ass back here, will you!?"
Fucking shit! Fucking mage hunters! How long will we be stuck repairing these ateliers if they keep bombing us like this!?
"Sir." Karl called out once more.
"What!?"
He noticed too late that the pressure was getting to him, and he had just screamed for no reason. He thus slapped himself back into shape, shaking his head as he would his anxiety. Somehow, it worked.
"You alright?" the man asked.
"Yeah." He sighed. "Go on."
"I believe it might be possible to protect our atelier from fire pots."
"Oh!?" Just hearing those words were enough from him to almost leap in place. "What is it? And hurry! We've got 46 seconds!"
"I've memorized their angle of attack, and I think I can intercept them with a wind spell."
"Mmh!? Wind!?" He crossed his arms. "No, that won't work. Even if you cut through the pots mid-air... hell, that might just spread the flames even further!"
He shook his head. "No, I have a different idea."
"M-mgh...!"
112, 113...! Shit!
"Gods! Fine! You have one shot!" He then cupped his hands over his mouth and screamed, "Everyone else! Evacuate, now!"
As the mages passed them, Karl, instead, walked in the center of the charred atelier.
"W-wait!" He reached out, but he was already far too late to grab him.
He must have heard him, however, as he soon turned his head and smiled, leaving a small wave, as though it were a parting gift.
Shit! What is he thinking!? Does he really need to do it there!?
Moments later, a volley of fire pots once more streaked across the sky. From where he stood, they looked like a horde of banshees, converging on their one victim, standing defiant in a spot of crisp, blackened earth..
"Kaaaaaarl!" He then turned to the other mages, and with a stern face screamed, "All of you, ready your water spells! He runs out of the atelier, hose him right down!"
"Yes sir!" they answered in chorus.
But just as the bombs reached the precipice of the dirt mound, Karl cast his spell:
"Follow my fingers!" he said, bringing his hand down at an angle, "Gust!"
The pots shattered all around him, inundating the ground with a bed of fiery flowers.
But in the center stood this frail mage, still leaning on his wooden staff - unharmed. And with a small smirk on his face, he then turned to his audience and put up two fingers in a V.
The others soon extinguished the surrounding fires, revealing that the atelier received no further damage.
"What the hell did you do...?" asked the Captain, "I haven't seen a spell like that before."
"Oh? Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It isn't a spell they teach at military academy. I swatted away the one pot that was going to land on the atelier with a gust of wind. I thought about it just now."
"Heeh..." He let out a deep sigh of relief whilst scratching the back of his head. "Guess that's the difference between a grunt mage like me and a real blooded magus..."
"Haha, no, no, it's a simple spell, really..."
"Anyway, if that's all you did, why d'you have to cast it inside the atelier? Does it take a lot of magic?"
"Ah, no." The man perked up and chuckled. "I didn't tap the ateliers magic. I just wanted to show off."
The captain's lips parted, drawing an annoyed grin on his face right as he slugged the man's shoulder with a left straight. "Bastard."
"Oww..."
Using this technique, both ateliers managed to survive the following fire bomb attacks. Soon after, they were also repaired back to functional condition and the fire support mission resumed.
The Rafflian encampment was divided into three. First was the mage camp, the smallest by far, due to their numbers. But given that each one boasted at least a remote claim to nobility, it was also the most tightly guarded. Next was the milice camp. Barely organized, it didn't look that much different from a slum or refugee camp, and the amenities were almost as destitute. And finally, between them was the regular army camp. Its structures were organized into blocks, forming wide paths between them for horses to traverse. Its palisades even sported a watch tower facing out towards the battlefield.
A handful of tents stood out among the rest, conspicuous in their placement adjacent to one another, and the fact that they were placed centrally in the entire Raffalian encampment. The largest was the command tent. Apart from the briefing table which took most of the space at its center, it also featured maps, cabinets for storing documents, and its own supply trove of ink and paper. Next, though slightly paling in size, the senator's personal cabin was by far the most luxurious. Whereas the soldiers lived in tents, he was the only person who could convincingly claim to live in a proper house out in the field. Constructed with logs all around, with canvas sheet as roofing, this simple box cabin was the unmistakable display of the senator's status as high aristocracy. Finally, the smallest of the three, was the tent of the Senator's personal chef. Intended as both the living quarters and work station of a nobleman - an artisan of cuisine rather than a mere cook - it only came second in terms of luxury to the Senator's own quarters. It featured log frames all around, rather than the central pole construction found even in the command tent, and featured a few flaps on its cotton body that served as windows, most important of which was the one to exhaust the smoke from the pot.
And outside this last tent, stood a young woman.
She twirled her soft, blonde hair around her fingers as she kept a ticking count in her mind.
His next meal should be cooked soon.
The gentle breeze carried a strong, salty aroma wafting out of the side window, caressing her senses with it's silky touch, though her deadened emotions refused any reaction. She took a deep breath, preparing her heart for what was to come.
She opened the tent flap, cleared her throat and said, with a bright tone, "Excuse me!"
"What the hell is it!?" a scream assaulted her ears in response, "Didn't I tell you idiots not to disturb me while working!? You're ruining my art! ART!"
She... sort of expected it. It was, after all, a rumor that quickly spread amongst the milice of Moyenne. Those who were assigned to logistics, and specifically the couple who'd been unfortunate enough to attend to the Senator personally, came to know exactly the sort of person his personal chef was.
"A-aah..." She bent forwards apologetically, all whilst maintaining eye contact and rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm sorry, but-"
He cut her off without delay. "No, I'm sorry that you're still wasting my time! Get out!"
The word most often used to describe him was 'asshole'.
"B-but I was sent by the Senator!" She hurriedly said, to avoid getting interrupted once more, "He wants his meal now!"
"What!?"
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She deftly leapt out of the way as a pan, thankfully an empty one, flew at her before slamming onto the dirt.
"It's not cooked yet, you fucking idiot! The lamb is still RAW."
At this point she'd lost track if she was trembling from her act, or if it was her real reaction, "B-but the Senator..."
"Leaping Lucius!" He kicked what seemed to be a stack of pots beneath the counters, producing a loud, sustained clang, "Fuck's sake! That man! So gods-damned unpredictable! Hold on! Give me three- no, two minutes! And hand be some firewood over there, will you!? So you can do something useful with your miserable life for once!"
She ground her teeth to cope with the man's incessant verbal battery. And it was her first time meeting him, too. She couldn't believe how a person could act this coarse towards a complete stranger, even if he was a person of high birth.
She did have inkling, however.
Part of the rumors went further, with those more savvy with the goings on in Rafale's aristocracy, chiming in with their own knowledge of this man. Indeed, he was a son of noble birth, and of a prestigious family at that. It seemed that the Senator took him in as his personal chef to count for the man's 'military deployment', a tradition strictly upheld by his family, and one which he could not escape, at least, not entirely.
In short, he's a spoiled brat in the body of a man...
And yet, despite his corrosive personality, there was one thing about him that could not be criticised.
With lightning-fast hands, he worked the fire, at the same time tossing the ingredients in one pan, while quickly moving to stir the pot next to it. To someone with slower eyes, they might even have mistaken him for having up to four hands. His eyes were focused intently at his dish, not even letting out so much as a peep as he swiped the block of wood from Mika's hands and threw it into the fire pit at his feet.
Amidst all this, she was endlessly assaulted by whiffs of scented herbs, melding with seared meat and stewed vegetables, making it difficult for her to remain focused on her task.
This man- She wiped the sweat off her brows as she bit on her inner lip. -is the real deal.
"Haah..." The man sighed as his movements finally slowed down, and bringing a ladle full of stew up to his nose, he gave it a tiny sip before he pouring filling the bowl. He then rested the seared beef onto a plate, dousing the meat with the cooking juices left in the pan before finishing it off with a few sliced vegetables. "Here," he then said, wiping the sweat off his brow, "bring thi-"
But even before he had finished, the woman lunged at him with a knife in her hand. With one forceful strike, she drilled the knife into his throat, preventing him from screaming, and then, breathing. She then calmly helped his body down and rested it onto the ground, where he would soon meet his final rest.
She then stood back up, ran her finger around the rim of the bowl where a bit of stew had stuck to the side and tasted it.
Hm. She licked her lips. Delicious. What a shame.
Afterwards, she then produced a vial from her belt pack, within which was a violet fluid. She then poured it, sparingly, in each part of the meal - a bit in the stew, a bit in the steak, even a tiny bit in the water, just in case.
Her eyes then turned to the man, now dead, at her feet.
She crouched down, brought her hand over her face, which melted away, leaving a solid mask in its place. It had been days since she last used her own face. When she shifted her weight, her dark red hair flowed down from her shoulders, almost touching the man's cheek as it sagged down. Just as before, she inspected his face for every detail. Then, bringing her hand once more over the mask, it bubbled up and she spread it all over her head.
This time, she was a grotesque combination of a man's head - short, scruffy hair and all - and a young woman's body. But that was no matter. Quickly, she swapped her top with his jacket, padding its shoulders and lower torso with anything she could find, before finally putting on his hat. Luckily, thanks to the counters, her bottom half wouldn't be visible from the entrance at all.
She then stood, silently, in front of the pots, and stirred it idly, waiting.
And then, he arrived.
A young man from the milice, the person she knew was serving the Senator today, entered the tent.
"U-um, Chef Leclerc!" he whimpered, "I'm here for the Senator's meal!"
Unable to replicate the chef's voice, she simply copied his scowl and pointed to the tray prepared over the counter while she continued stirring.
"U-uhm... is this it?" He said with great anxiety, biting his tongue at the last moment, as though realizing he had asked a painfully stupid question.
But instead of blowing up at him, which she, admittedly, could not do, she just nodded at him and turned away.
"Err, th-thanks. I'll bring it to him right away!"
The man then hastily took the tray and left as fast as he could.
And when the tent flaps had stilled once more, she finally let out a sigh of relief.
More than anything, she was thankful for the man's nasty reputation, that the soldier was too afraid to speak with her.
And so, she quickly swapped back to her Mika's clothes and face.
Afterwards, she sliced a few holes at the back of the tent with her knife, making sure no one was there. Then, she added all the remaining firewood into the pit, overflowing its contents out towards the tent's very flammable cotton sheet. Moreover, she spilled some oil over the bed and furniture, just for good measure.
Alas, having done her part, she finally tore a larger hole in the back of tent for her to make her escape, undetected.
Mika snuck up behind a shady spot between two tents and a poplar tree which gave her a good, if slightly obstructed, view of the command tent. Her heart, beating anxiously in anticipation of the results of her hastily constructed scheme, she dug her heels into the dirt and waited.
Hardly a few seconds later, the tent flaps flew open, as though a gust of wind just blasted out from inside. In fact it was the noisy senator, making his always gaudy exit. "We ride!" he said, "'Tis the moment of truth!"
Her eyes widened and her teeth clenched. Immediately, thoughts broiled in her mind to explain the unexpected situation. Why was this man not writhing in the ground, with foam spilling from his mouth? Did she misjudge the dose? Did she mistakenly lace it with the wrong drug? Or worse - did they somehow detect her treachery?
Right behind him was his Lieutenant, with a worried expression written all over his face. "Sir," he said, "please reconsider. It should not be necessary to commit our entire force into one attack. In any case, the frontage-"
"It is already decided, lad!" He then placed his hand over his shoulder. "You may not understand it yet, but there is invaluable glory to be gained in a decisive battle! It is what a man lives for! Be he an aristocrat or a mere commoner. And when you grow up to be a respectable man, which is all but guaranteed, since you are under my tutelage, you will look back on these words and see their wisdom."
He, however, just looked mortified, and he seemingly struggled to even maintain the straight face he always had when sucking up to his superior.
Soon after, her worst fears subsided, as the soldier from earlier emerged right behind them, with a troubled expression drawn on his face.
"Your honor," the man asked, "how about your meal?"
"Bah, that can wait!" The man's pace was unswerving. "I can't ride a horse having just eaten! Just leave it in my quarters. I'll have it later."
"Y-yes, understood!"
Soon, several other men marched out of the tent, pushing the awkward soldier aside. The first handful wore shining suits of armor, atop which each wore a tabard that signified the heraldry and coat of arms of their unit. She noted the herald of the two-headed lion appearing for the commanders of the assault units, and an eagle with outstretched wings for the line units. Behind them followed a man in blue robes - the High Sorcerer of the mage squadron, and behind him were the captains of the Milice, humble in their lack of note. Then, finally, came someone entirely unexpected - the tall, blonde celebrity who had spent her entire time here loafing around.
She wore a carefree expression as she said to the person behind her, "After this, we're going home, huh? What a waste. And here I thought something fun would happen."
A small, young woman came last, and with a grimace, she replied, "No, we can't. Please at least visit the castle when it's taken. If you don't, then I'm going to be in trouble!"
"Well," The Senator's face twisted into a subtle smirk, as though he were halfway undecided between wanting to show it and hide it. "I do apologize for bringing you all the way out here in the boonies just for a little sightseeing. I'm afraid the enemy was just so weak! But still, I wouldn't say it was a waste - I'm sure the men were just a bit more motivated, knowing the beautiful heroine was watching over them. So, for the meantime, please watch over us as we deliver the decisive blow on those Easter rats!" His tone openly seeped with sarcasm, however.
"Heeeh..." It seemed that her temper was about to boil over once more, and the young woman was the only thing keeping the lid on.
"Please, don't pick him up again...!" she begged, latching her hands around the heroine's arm.
"Hmph!" She pouted, turning her head away.
At that moment, however, Mika's heart skipped a beat as her eyes coincided precisely with the heroine's.
Instinctively, she skittered away, breaking line of sight to fully hide herself behind the tents.
Did she see me, just now?
Carefully, she peeked an eye back out the side of the tent, and saw that the heroine hadn't moved at all.
What is it...? Is she looking at something else?
It flashed by in just an instant, but Mika swore she saw a smile appearing on the woman's face just as she turned right back to her adjutant, saying, "Yeah, I guess I can wait."
"Eh?" The young woman seemed surprised to hear such an obedient response. "Well, so long as you understand..."
And so, the Senator and the entire command staff rode to the front.
Meanwhile, Mika fell on her knees, cursed under her breath, and muttered to herself, "Damn...! I couldn't make it!"
She clenched her fists and pressed them into her forehead as she agonized over her failure.
What do I do!? Even she, of all people, is escorting him now! At this rate... the battle might already be decided.
She swept her head around.
Could I rely on my support team? I've only been using them to relay messages back to Lady Aster, but as of now... no, even if we rushed them all at once, the heroine alone could annihilate us. Though I would like to reveal the heroine's true power, such a foolish way is...
While absorbed in thought, the smell of char entered her nostrils.
...wasteful...
When she turned around, she noticed a light smoke billowing beyond the tent she hid behind.
Then, a spark of realization.
She crept with all haste between the cluster of nearby tents, arriving at an open path toward one of the larger tents situated away from the camp's center. There it was - the 80th's Armory.
With the entire command staff gone, an uncontrollable fire in the camp won't only erase the evidence...
The only problem now was the pair of heavily armed men flanking its only entrance. But of course, she already had a solution.
Backing up a bit, she loudly ran across the grass before blasting out from between the tents, in an affected panic.
Startled, both guards raised their weapons and try to apprehend her, but quickly froze when she pointed her hand up behind her and screamed, "Fire!"
Indeed, a thickening black cloud billowed in the near distance.
"Wha-!?" one of them gasped.
Her eyes narrowed.
...it will create chaos.
"Quick! Please, help!" she then screamed, tugging on them with an arm each.
"Shit!" the other guard cried, "Why right when the whole army's deployed!? Let's go!"
"Alright!" Or so she said, but she merely shadowed them for a couple of steps before whisking right back and letting herself into the armory.
Immediately, she found what she was looking for - a crossbow and a quiver of bolts. She quickly pocketed the bolts and slung the crossbow over her shoulder.
By the time she was finished raiding the army's supplies, the camp was engulfed in panic.
"What the hell is that!?" A soldier cried as he ran by.
Pretending to be alarmed, herself, she shrieked, "Enemy attack!"
"What!? They're here!?"
Carried by the panic, the man didn't even stop to consider the situation and instead runs to the scene of trouble.
She then ran alongside him until the next corner where she dashed the opposite way, in pursuit of her target. She passed many soldiers along the way, running hither and dither to gather as many buckets of water as could be gathered, but without any coordination, the fire simply grew and grew, engulfing even the nearby structures.
At the back of her mind, she wondered how far it could spread, but at the moment, her attention was focused on her one mission.
She huffed and she puffed.
Her slender frame was not built for sprinting great distances.
Her arms swayed back and forth as though she were grabbing the air in front of her in turn.
Soon, her thighs felt as though they were on fire.
But she could not afford to stop.
She then plowed right into a thicket and continued the rest of the way through the woods, evading further detection as she closed the frontline.
10 shots. 1 vial of poison.
"Haa... haaa...!" She wiped the sweat off her brows.
I can still do this!
The fortress gates opened with a loud, intermittent creak.
A single carriage passed between its wooden palisades, sandwiched front and back by a column of bow-armed horsemen and heavily armored infantrymen, respectively.
And when this convoy came to a stop, the soldiers arrayed themselves such that they formed a straight pathway from the vehicle to the stout man waiting in front of the keep.
Moments later, the carriage door opened, and a girl emerged, garbed in a glimmering, fine dress, and lavished with exquisite jewelry encrusted with gems. She descended, one step at a time, held by a tall woman whose already fair skin could not even compare to the girl's pale, white hands.
The two arrived in much like a procession, with the soldiers closing ranks behind them as they passed.
And soon, they came face to face with the man. Or, more precisely, the woman did. The young girl, simply closed her eyes whilst maintaining a level gaze.
His lips curled upwards as he twirled his bushy moustache around his finger.
"We've been expecting you."