The glare of the waning sun reflected off the man's pauldron as though it were a mirror. Locks of his thin, wavy hair peeked out from under his helm, dancing with the breeze that he took in with his breath. When he opened his eyes, a triumphant expression graced his sharp, unblemished face.

His lips then parted, revealing his sparkly white grin.

"Haaaaaaaa!" his voice rang clear, interrupted only by the rhythmic gallop of his steed, clad from forehead to sternum with plates of purple and black armor, same as his own.

Before him formed a row of spikes.

The flare of magical light streaking above had alerted the enemy of his intention.

They believed that they could scare him, as their solidifying hedgehog wall would, a typical cavalryman.

But he was no such thing.

He was Saint Georges Montagne-Leclerc, Esquire - the man who went by the moniker of "Invincible".

As such, his mount's step only grew lighter.

And for every second that passed, his smile became more and more vicious.

His heart thumped in unison with the footfalls of his warhorse, and that of the 30 others formed up behind him. Revealing their full intent, they arranged themselves into the very spearhead that awaited them.

He imagined the expressions behind the helmets of those poor footmen, now no more than 50 feet away. Their trembling hands desperately grasped their spiked metal poles and rounded shields - the only things that stood between them and an excruciating death beneath the hooves of a fully armored warhorse and its rider. Moreover, they were exhausted; and the sun was shining into their eyes.

That hopelessness - just thinking about it spread a sweet sensation across his tongue, prompting him to lick his lips in anticipation.

The spear wall soon reached completion. Three rows deep, the Eastals presented their weapons forward, with the very front row digging theirs into the ground, bracing them for the charge while they hid themselves behind their sturdy shields.

Many would expect the cavalry to turn away at this point. No matter their weight, no matter how well they had been bred, horses would simply refuse to gallop into their certain doom, even if the rider were insane enough to do so.

But the knights only gained speed.

Faster! Faster!

They seemed hell-bent on impaling themselves into the spikes arrayed neatly before them.

But then, in the very last moment, Saint Georges lifted his arm over his head and shouted, "Knights!"

A dense yellow fog then flared up from his hands, collapsing into strands of lightning that travelled up his sword. He then swung it around, in a half-circle, in the end, bringing it level towards the enemy before him.

"Lightning Sprite!"

Ear-shattering thunder erupted from all around as, all at once, the knights loosed a furious barrage of lightning bolts. They swept forward, branching again and again until they formed a criss-crossing mesh, and leaving a bleary trail of super-hot plasma in their wake. And then, with a snapping crackle, they licked the metal spear tips, travelled down its conductive handle, and jumped into the holders themselves.

One after the other, the spears fell to the ground. Most were sensible enough to let go of their own volition, but others held on, quite literally, for dear life, even as their muscles cramped and their skin blistered.

"Haaahahahahaha!" he cackled, bringing his sword down for a sweep, "Have some more! Blade of Crackling Light!"

With a single swing, his weapon cleaved through three soldiers as though it sliced through air. However, it left no wound in its wake. Instead, where it passed through their bodies, violent sparks erupted, and each palpitated violently before falling to his knees, unconscious; maybe dead.

The knights, with Saint Georges at the head, had pierced right through the infantry formation. In their speed, and utter brutality, the stragglers at the rear had barely the time to get into position, much less put up meaningful resistance.

A familiar clarion call followed, blaring from behind.

Glancing over his shoulders he caught the moment when the nearby assault company disgorged its rear echelons, pouring men, magic and steel into the gaping wound they had just made in Easter's line.

"Hmph." He thus turned his gaze forward to ascertain his next target.

The enemy's rear laid bare and at his mercy. At once, he noted two points of interest. Some distance away was their skirmish line. Archers, arranged into thin rows presented a most tempting prey for any mounted soldier. Directly in front, was a steep incline up the hill towards the enemy fort. It did not take him long to see the colorful spells streaming out of a small outcrop at its base.

A cruel grin surfaced on his face. "Ah, a quarry worthy of the Order of Zerillion!"

Not long after, a voice called to him, "My Liege."

He turned his eyes to the man on his left, though the first thing he saw was the purple plume atop his helm, whipping in the wind. He asked, "Yes, Geinzes?"

"Enemy reinforcements," he reached out his arm and pointed into the distance, where the base of the hill sloped gently down to meet with the plains, before transitioning abruptly into a dense woodland, "from the northern approach."

Indeed, he saw some specks moving out in the distance. From their size and speed, he easily surmised them to be cavalry.

He smirked. "They wish to challenge us? Very well. Our Order shall teach these steppe barbarians the meaning of Chevalerie!"

Thus, they galloped forth to meet their foe head-to-head.

With their accumulated skill and discipline, it took no time at all for the knights to regroup and form their battle line. No more communication was necessary than the three leading men, Saint Georges and his left- and right-hand men positioning themselves respectively.

The distance shortened at an eagle's pace. Indeed, at this point he now discerned that the opposing horsemen came with lances.

"Hmph." But he was unimpressed.

Instead, he spurred his horse to full speed.

His knights soon followed.

Meanwhile, the enemy couched their lances.

He scoffed at them. "Knaves."

The two cavalry lines entered course for a battlefield joust. But alas, the tricky Saint Georges had another card up his sleeve.

"Now! Stop them in their tracks!" he yelled, "Quagmire!"

Darts of condensed magic shot forth into the ground between them. With every knight casting the same spell, the entire strip of land beneath the charging lancers liquified into a sloshy, sticky swamp. Caught at such breakneck speed, several riders were simply flung off their horses.

Then, with a violent tug on his reins, the so-called "Invincible" steered his horse away from the bubbling bog with a smug face. "Split off!"

Like a well-orchestrated piece of theater, the knights' line broke cleanly in half, with one part breaking left and the other going right, and both avoiding the same death trap they had prepared for their foes.

"Now!" he then screamed much louder than before to reach his Order's second half, "Finish them!"

Even the simplest of sorceries proved deadly to an opponent who could not defend himself. And right before them laid the very quintessence of the word. All manner of elemental spells - rock, ice, fire, wind, lightning, fell upon the Eastals, without pause, and without mercy. Some lucky few managed to escape the bog found their lances next to useless given no chance to gain velocity. And in this instance, it was the Raffalian magic knights, whose two parts ran circles around the trapped lancers, that held the speed advantage.

Alas, an entire company of horsemen - annihilated. Both man and mount laid dead or dying in the slowly stiffening mud; their soon-to-be gravesite in which those who sank were already buried.

Sweeping his hair over to one side, he muttered,  ever so smugly, "Now then-"

But in that same moment, he saw fireball arcing straight at him.

"Hng-!?" He just barely blocked it, swinging his hand in front and exhuming a thick cloud of yellow magic that created a barrier of light between him and the spell.

The impact tore at his very soul; as though his heart were glass, that slowly cracked under pressure.

His peers noticed moments later and formed their own barriers, stacking them behind his.

Seeing this, he undid his, and allowed the now weakened spell to hit the second, and then a third layer, which finally extinguished it.

His fingers cracked as he balled them into a fist.

"Yes..." his eyebrows twitched as his face contorted in fury, "you shall definitely pay, you barbarians."

Then, bringing his horse around, he drew his sword, thrust it into the air and said, "Knights!"

Each one listened in rapt attention.

With brows furled, he then said in a dire tone, "We break them."

The senator's cheeks wrinkled and his lips widened.

His horse, a massive beast of a stallion with a sleek brown coat, clopped in place as he dismounted. He lightly brushed its mane - a habitual bond they shared, which was a manner of him saying 'good work'.

He then strutted towards his guests, a pair of young ladies, holding both his arms up, almost in a shrugging fashion, and said, "Please, enjoy. You don't see this very often - a live demonstration of the full capabilities of the Magic Knights!"

One just met him with a dull look, and, with an indifferent tone, said, "Heeh. That's nice."

"Gnn..." he grumbled.

The other showed a bit more interest, as her inquisitive eyes surveyed the field from left to right.

This heroine is as difficult as ever... if only her handler would teach her some manners.

An awkward silence then spread, which dampened even the earth-shaking thumps of the nearby ballistas launching their bolts into the air.

Moments later, the battery commander approached, and gave the senator a salute.

"Your Honor," he said, "welcome to the field."

"Ah, mm-hmm. I trust everything is in order?"

"Yes, your honor. Our battery has been suppressing the enemy atelier. Unfortunately, we have been unable to eliminate them outright, likely due to some well-prepared fortification on their side."

"That's fine. Withdraw and rest. The Knights of Zerillion will take care of those pesky mages."

"Ah!" the corner of the man's lips perked up slightly upon hearing this, "Thank you, your honor! I shall convey it to the men."

As the battery commander scurried off, another voice took the senator's ear.

"Sir," his Lieutenant said, "the line infantry pushing up the village have made no progress. There is simply not enough frontage in that area for three full companies, and they cannot expose themselves in the open as the forward atelier is still under construction..."

"That's alright, let them continue. It's better to have them on standby close to the front, anyway. Once that atelier is completed, the battle ends. No need to hold anything back."

Though hesitant, the young man had no choice but to accept his logic. "I... I see..."

At around the same time, the senator caught some tiny whispers from behind him.

The lady adjutant had an anxious face to her as she muttered something to the now grinning heroine. Moreover she seemed to have clamped her arm around the latter's elbow, chaining her in place.

"...because it's dangerous!" she said, though what it was about, he could not quite make out.

The spear maiden tried to tug herself free, though from their size difference alone, she must have done so gently, or she could even drag her adjutant through the dirt, if she so wanted. "It's okay, I'll be back really quick, okay?"

"But-"

The woman then placed her finger over the girl's lips, and with a deep, breathy voice, she said, "Can't you trust me for something as small as this? I promised you I'll be back soon, right?"

Her cheeks flushed red, the adjutant finally caved in, turning her eyes away and, begrudgingly, muttered, "Fine..."

"Heheh," with a sparkling grin, the heroine then gave her a parting wave and said, "I'll see you later."

And to his surprise, the woman suddenly walked out into the forest.

With a shade of suspicion in his gaze, he called out to the adjutant, asking, "Hey, where is she going?"

"She wanted to 'roam around'," she answered with a sigh.

He clicked his tongue. Roam around. Bah! She keeps looking down on us. What a disagreeable woman...

Nevertheless, he replied, "And you aren't going with her?"

"She wanted to go alone..."

"Hmph. Of course."

"I apologize for her behavior, Senator."

"You have no need to apologize." He shook his head. "If anything, I pity you. It must be difficult, dealing with an otherworlder like that. Outsiders like me can just ignore her, but you're forced to understand that incomprehensible monster..."

As he turned away, he just barely heard her tiny voice, whispering, "...she's not..."

But he decided to ignored it.

Believe what you wish.

"Captain!" the man with the soft voice screamed his hardest, "The lancers...!"

The middle-aged soldier clenched his teeth, eyes drenched in fury and disbelief. "I know..."

Unable to hold it in any longer, he swung his fist at the mound of dirt in front of him, spattering some onto his own face.

"Verdammt!" he cursed, leaking his Alfheimr accent, "These bastard Raffalians! Why use Magic Knights for a tiny outpost like this!?"

"They're approaching!"

"Scheisse, so that's why the bombardment stopped!" he then screamed at the top of his lungs, "All mages! Concentrate spells! Take down those knights!"

But at this point, even with the efficiency granted by their local atelier, most of the mages were on the verge of total magical exhaustion. Every other spell, one or two mages would double over, increasing the burden on those remaining until they recovered.

But with no other recourse, they pressed on. The captain even had his assistant mage join in the defense. "Karl!" he said, patting him on the shoulder whilst sweeping his other arm at a flat arc, "Quagmire, there! Stop them in their tracks!"

"Got it!" Again and again, he cast the spell, turning lush grasslands into pools of bubbling mud. "Quagm-!" But soon, right as magic erupted from his body for the twelfth time, the young man flinched as blood spurted from his mouth. "Mgh-!"

"Karl!" The captain quickly brought his arm across his abdomen, catching him before he fell. "Hang in there!"

"Guh...! I'm fine, Captain..." he said, with blood trailing down from his lips. "Just... give me a few seconds."

"Yeah. Yeah. Down you go." Gently, he laid his friend against the dirt wall. "Get back real quick, huh?"

"You got it...!"

He clenched his teeth.

Up top, the situation had turned for the worse. Mere moments after the swamp moat was created, the charging Raffalian knights used their own sorcery to freeze the land itself, turning it into hard ice.

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His eyes widened. "After all that effort...!?"

As if that were not enough, with the lead horse now being just over a stone's throw away, a few of the mages were beginning to break.

"Damn!" Seeing this, he leapt out of the dugout and joined them at their atelier, screaming all the way, "Hold your ground! Hold! You won't outrun a fucking horse, you asses! Ready your spells, on my signal!"

"Captain!" Ernst, standing in the middle of the second atelier some distance way, gave him a thumbs up.

He returned his gesture and then unsheathed his sword, lifting it overhead. "Ready Earth Spike!"

Amid the ponderous climb of the heavy cavalry, his eyes met with that of lead rider. He noted the man's purple and black helm, and the golden strands of hair that bobbed with his horse's gallop.

Then, when they closed to a mere dozen feet distance, he swung his sword down. "Cast!"

Their myriad voices resounded behind him, followed by a rush of magical smoke spilling forth. The ground then quaked as compacted dirt shot up, forming stalactite spears right in front of the cavalry.

He swore time must have slowed down, as he stared at the man's face, slowly twisting into an arrogant smirk.

"Wind Cutter!" the knight chanted.

Ngh!? The captain flinched.

Without even a direct command, the rest cast the same spell, dicing the spikes and blowing away the crystallized dirt like shrapnel back into their faces.

What followed was a massacre.

The captain fell on his back, blinded by dust, and all he could hear were the harrowing screams of the men and women of his mage company, ringing like droplets of rain amid the thundering footfalls of armored warhorses.

God damn! God damn! GOD DAMN!

In all desperation, he wiped the muck from his eyes. Even when he tried to stand up, he felt the solid edge of the horse's plate armor smash against his hip, throwing him back down, and leaving him with a stomp on the back.

"Aaaaaagh!"

But he refused to stay down. He laid his hands over the hilt of his sword and grasped it with all his strength. He then stabbed it into the ground and used it as leverage to get back up.

When he opened his eyes, his subordinates were already littered across the field. The atelier was smashed into oblivion from the passing hooves of maybe two dozen horses. Here and there remained the steadfast few who resisted to their very last breath, duelling with the mounted knights with whatever spells they could conjure from the very last drop of their stamina. He watched as Ernst threw a fireball right into a knight's armor, only for his spell to dissipate harmlessly, even without the use of a barrier. He then closed his eyes as the horseman leveled his sword and swung it at the man's neck.

He etched this image in his mind. Even as his eyelids shut tight, it was still there. Right before his eyes. Frozen in time.

Ernst...

His grip tightened around his blade.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" His eyes burst open as he let out a primal roar.

And there, before him was another knight, sword drawn and ready to slash at his chest.

"Come and die, you dirty son of a whore!"

He leapt up, aiming to stab his sword right in the man's face, not even concerned with his blade primed to slice his body in half.

At a moment's hesitation, the knight, pulled his weapon back and covered himself with his shield instead. However, in that same instant, a lightning bolt zapped him in the arm, causing him to flinch.

Wha-!?

Tossing away all thoughts, the captain put his all in this one attack. "Raaaaaaagh!"

He missed his mark by a bit, but did land the tip of his blade into the knight's chest, drilling it firmly into the man's armor. From their combined momentum, he pushed the man right off his horse.

Midair, he glared hatefully at the face hidden behind a black steel visor, and, with a gurgling voice, said, "Die here! Die now! Sword of Incineration!"

With a spark of magic, his steel blade glowed bright orange. And right as they hit the ground, it exploded into a jet of flame.

"Aaaaargh!" His own screams mixed with that of his prey. "So what if you're a fucking magic knight!? Once you're off your high horse, you're no better than us!"

The sheer intensity of the flame scalded his skin and torched his shirt.

In the silence that followed, he came to terms with the fact that he had killed his first man using his own blade.

Ha... haha... this is so stupid. What difference does it make? Between this and killing someone with magic, hundreds of yards away?

With a bitter grin, he muttered to himself, "Shit."

After a short while, he remembered the lightning bolt just then.

"Ah!" And when he turned his head, there he was - on one knee. He must have crawled out of the ditch to even get there.

You glorious bastard...!

Then, a horseman galloped between them.

It was only an instant that he lost sight of his friend.

But in the next, the young man now laid flat on the ground, hand stretched over his head, whilst a pool of blood formed from under his neck.

And he just stood there.

Stunned.

Silent.

His head drooped down, eyes shifting left and right. From outside, he looked to be deeply in thought, but in reality, not a single one crossed his mind.

Just sheer, white noise.

"Ah..." he said in almost a low moan, devoid of any feeling. "...what am I going to tell his parents?"

Moments later, an unfamiliar voice snapped him halfway out of his trance.

"You." One of the knights approached him. "Tell me your name."

He soon recognized him as the one on the lead horse, from the wavy golden hair that cascaded down both sides of his face. He gave a muffled applause through his padded gloves as he strutted on foot. He did not look quite as tall as he did mounted.

"You, sir, are the first person in this campaign to defeat a Knight of Zerillion in battle. Congratulations." He then took a moment to glance at his fallen comrade. "Haah... Jacques. What a shame."

He didn't know why, but every second this man spoke, he felt a different sort of rage welling up from inside him.

And so, with a sour expression, he said, "The hell are you?"

"Hm? Me?" He gaudily brought both his hands over his chest. "Oh, no no no no. There is no point in telling you my name. Make no mistake. You will die. But I do wish to know yours. It's a hobby of mine. Indeed, if you were a knight, I would ask you for a piece of armor, so it remained pristine when I inter it within my collection, but... well, perhaps your sword will do."

The corner of his lips twisted in disgust. "The fuck? So you're just a pervert, huh?" He then brought his sword to bear. "As I thought. You Raffalians are all sick fucking midgets."

"Hmph." He placed his hand over his mouth and cackled. "Hahahaha! I shall tear you limb from limb."

Alas, in that dusty, broken land, began a duel to the death.

With a soft click, the bolt fell securely in place.

The woman lifted the machine up to her shoulder and looked down its length. At the very end, about where the steel bow curved farthest in front, the tip of the bolt gleamed from the sticky fluid that she had doused upon it.

Using this glint as a marker, she aimed the crossbow out past the treeline.

She crouched atop a thick tree branch, resting the back of her shoulder against the solid trunk for extra leverage.

Past the light foliage, she centered on her mark - the large, bald man in the conspicuous white toga. Had she any sense of humor, she would be thanking him for making her job just a bit easier.

She breathed in, and then out.

Adjust for distance...

In and out. She repeated this over and over, but with ever deeper breaths, and ever longer delays in between.

Compensate for the power of the bow...

Her heart rate slowed, and she fell into a sort of trance, as everything melted away into a blur, except for two things - her bolt and her target.

Wait for the wind to settle...

Slowly, she squeezed the lever, careful not to let any extraneous twitches and bobs throw off her aim.

Just as the spring began to loosen beneath her fingers, a sweat drop crawled past her eye and rolled down her cheek.

Then, within a hair's breath of taking a shot, a voice called out.

"Oh, so there you are."

Hic...!

In her surprise, her entire body jerked so violently that the bolt fell off the track.

Damn!

Quickly drawing her dagger, she kicked off the branch, landing onto an adjacent, lower one. Then, using her built-up momentum, she leapt off once more, now right above the interloper.

With knife overhead, she dropped in for a plunging stab.

But again to her surprise, the person caught her by the collar, mid-air, and threw her to the ground.

She rolled across the grassy forest floor until a tree caught her back, sending a jolt of pain up and down her spine. "Gwah!"

"That was a neat move-"

She would not allow them to speak, however, as she quickly leapt back on her feet and rushed forwards. Her descent threw her crossbow some ways out and with a rolling dash, she retrieved it. Even whilst mid-roll, she already had her fingers in her pocket, and by the time she regained stable footing, she had loaded a new bolt into the weapon.

But what, or who, she saw before her was what truly sent shivers crawling across her skin.

It was a smiling woman, whose golden-blonde hair glittered beneath the shady canopy of the woodland. She stared back at her with eyes that glowed in shifting rainbow colors, quite unlike anything she had ever seen before. And worst of all, she knew precisely who this person was.

The Heroine!? Why- How did she find me!?

"Just so you know..."

She allowed her to speak, even whilst she wound her fingers upon the lever, keeping it just a slight twitch away from springing the mechanism.

"...a weapon like that can't kill me. Not right now, at least," she said, with as much levity as one would say the sky was blue, "but more importantly..."

Kuh...! She gnashed her teeth. What is she planning? If she wanted to take me out then she'd have done so when I didn't notice her...!

The heroine continued, "...you're looking to kill that old man, aren't you?"

Her eyes widened.

"Bullseye, huh?" She smirked. "I've dealt with bodysnatchers and shapeshifters in my career, see?"

The woman paced leisurely around her, and she would track her with the crossbow, always aiming it square at her forehead.

"I can tell when someone's... off." She stopped. Next, she leaned over until they were almost face-to-face.

She then felt her hairs raise, as the woman whispered thus, "Say... that's not your face, is it?"

Sensing danger, she thrust the crossbow right at the heroine's neck and shot it point-blank.

"Guh-!"

She heard the snap of vertebrae shattering.

The heroine's head recoiled from the impact, before falling limp. Though she remained upright, blood spilled out from the wound at a rate that would ensure death in just a few moments.

"I did it!?" she mumbled.

I... killed a Legendary Hero... what...? This isn't part of the plan... what am I going to...

But in her sheer terror, the blood soon backed up, as though the wound were sucking it back in. Every drop, even those that had painted the forest floor flowed back into the gash as her head perked back up. She then grabbed the haft of the bolt and pulled it back out, the barbed tip tearing muscle and ligament on its way. But those, too, returned firmly in place as the pucture sutured itself.

In the span of a few seconds, it was as though the fatal wound had never existed.

And all that came of it were a few coughs, as the heroine cleared her throat. "Ah. Ahh. Ahem... Mm, better." She shrugged, throwing the unbloodied bolt aside. "See?"

I-impossible! You're telling me this Legendary Hero is immortal!?

Her fingers clumsily reached into her pocket for another bolt, but at this point, her trembling hands made reloading difficult.

Seeing this, the heroine tried to assuage her. "Hey, hey, listen. Relax. You might even like what I'm about to say."

Quickly, she came to the one, inevitable conclusion - that resistance was futile. So she lowered her crossbow and opened her ears, though in the back of her mind, she looked for some sort of opening she could use to, possibly, run away.

"That's a good girl!" She placed her arms on her waist. "Or boy? Who knows, huh? Anyway, you're probably a spy or some sort, right? I don't know how you learned that spell to change your form, but I at least know one thing-" She leaned over once more and took a quick whiff. "-Yup! You're not a demon. Which is great for you! Otherwise, you'd already be mince meat right now!"

Those words, in that tone, sent a shiver down her spine.

"But anyway, you're probably aiming to weaken Rafale's army, right? And you think you can do so by killing the baldie." She shook her head. "Bad idea. See, back in my world, we have a term for someone like that - an 'idiot'. Honestly, having someone like him at the helm is more detrimental to this army than having no one at all! So if I were you..." she grinned. "I'd just sit back and relax!"

Huh...? Is... she trying to fool me or something?

"But, say you really want hobble them..."

"You must be familiar with his right-hand man, huh? Dark green hair, punchable face." The moment she said this, she turned around and began to walk away. "Well, I'm not telling you to kill him, but he's definitely the brains of this operation, so there!"

Her mouth fell agape. In that short span of time, her mind spun so far out of balance, that she couldn't make sense of anything at all. Frustrated, asked, "Why!? Why tell me this!? I'm your enemy, aren't I!?"

"Are you?"

That retort caught her off-guard.

"I have no interest in the problems of this world. I have but one goal - kill this world's Demon King so I can return to my own and deliver the finishing blow to mine." She shrugged. "But, well, in the meantime, I'm quite bored, so it would be fun to experience a good, tough fight once in a while!"

And with that, the heroine disappeared once more.

Left in her solace, the young woman fell limp, and spent the next few moments in silent contemplation.

What... just happened?

She rubbed her face, drenched in sweat, unable to believe she survived a failed assassination attempt on a Legendary Hero.

What in the world shall I write in my report about her...?

The feeling of defeat washed over her as she fell back and laid on the grass.

I know one thing...

She lifted her hand and stared at it, still trembling even now.

...the Heroine of Rafale is insane.

Her arm fell over her eyes as she breathed, once more, in and out to regulate her heart rate.

Should I do as she says...?

Should I do nothing at all?

At that moment, the inhuman image of the heroine pulling out the bolt out of her own throat flashed once more before her eyes.

There truly are... monsters, in this world.