With the arrival of the morning light, the Hellwave’s Traveler inched closer and closer to its destination.
But the air that permeated the ship’s deck was not one of triumph. Having witnessed Bronson be dragged into the sea and Galen’s ensuing meltdown, trepidation began to fester within everyone.
“Is Bronson… dead?” Elena asked, struggling to even entertain the thought.
The sound of her question struck both Miles and Leila harshly, but their reactions differed. Where Leila made a pained expression, Miles crossed his arms and played it aloof.
In the end, it would be Charles who would answer for them. “I read a tale about a man dragged into the depths of the ocean by a Siren. The man was taken to an underwater cavern, where the two fell in love. But in truth, all the creature wanted was to suck the Mana out of his blood.”
“There is little concrete knowledge about Kabeasts, as those who encounter them rarely live to tell the tale. So legends are about as reliable a source as any,” said Miles. The way he spoke piqued Elena’s interest; completely stone-faced, his body language not conveying any strong emotions. Considering the man who was supposed to be his best friend could be dead, Miles showed little sign of being affected.
“Miles, are you okay,” Elena asked, extending her touch toward him.
Miles slapped away her hand before it could reach him, then further added, “In any case, there is little we can do. We are about to land on Dead God’s Isle. Elena, please take Cordelia to bed.”
“Oh right, she’s still snoozing.”
Elena looked at the floor, site of the resting Cordelia. The sight of such a cute, innocent-looking girl in peaceful slumber made it easy to forget her tiredness was one born of battle. For the sake of those she deemed dear, Cordelia cast a spell of such magnitude, it wore out her frail body.
Those known as the Marked were a special people. Not only were they cursed with a special birthmark, but a special energy known as Mana flowed through their blood. Said special energy, the same that powered elemental crystals, was generated at the moment of ingesting food, and was spent every time a Marked cast a spell. Unsurprisingly, such a large exhaust of a body’s Mana reserves could result in tiredness in its owner.
“Wait, are you asking me to bridal carry her to her bedroom? Because if so, I am ready to ser—”
“Hold on Miles,” Leila said, cutting Elena off. “Are you sure you’re okay leaving her here? I am no expert on magic, but I’m sure poor girl over here will wake up with a pit on her stomach.”
“I can confirm,” said Charles, backing up Leila’s claim. “Back in the palace, one of the ways we ensured our slaves wouldn’t use magic against us was by carefully curating their meals. That way, even if one of them had some rebellious ideas, their hunger would nip them in the bud.”
A silence followed his words, accompanied by intense stares in his direction.
“What?”
“I really wish the Sirens had taken you instead,” snarked Elena.
Leila clapped. “Anyway, back on-topic. Bronson was the only one who cooked in here, and he’s gone. Meanwhile, I’m sure we’ll be received with a glorious banquet by the islanders. I say we take her with us.”
“Seems fair to me. I guess I’ll have to carry her for a longer distance,” said Elena.
“I’ll carry her myself,” chimed in Miles. He approached Cordelia’s body and picked her up with no issue. “You’d probably drop her along the way.”
A statement lacking in tact, but far from inaccurate. Elena’s arm strength was not much better than in her old body. In some ways, it might even be worse. The sole reason Miles had tasked her with delivering Cordelia to bed was because he didn’t want to intrude in his sister’s room.
With that matter settled, only one question remained in Elena’s mind. “What about Galen?”
“...I think it’s better we let him have some time alone,” Leila said, closing her eyes. “Losing the one you love dearest… it’s the kind of pain one can never recover from.”
Exhaustion. Experience. Those were the words Elena associated with Leila’s tone and facial language. It was evident to all who heard her that Leila was speaking not from a place of sympathy, but rather from empathy, from the place of someone who had felt the very pain she spoke of.
For a moment, Elena felt compelled to inquire about what event had made Leila feel like that. But on second thought she realized it was out of place to pry into what was undoubtedly a touchy subject.
Besides, with the ship soon to reach the nearby shore, she wanted to set her mind to the upcoming island adventure.
----------------------------------------
A feeling of déjà vu was setting in. Elena and the others were standing on a beach not unlike the one they’d just left, chilly winds striking their back and white sand tickling their feet. An enigmatic figure came to greet them, this time wearing a black robe.
“I have long awaited your arrival, o’ chosen one.”
Rubbing his wrinkly hands as he spoke, the man drew nearer, the details that comprised his face revealing themselves. A single, thick eyebrow served as roof for his threatening red eyes. His nose was elongated, with visible hair hanging from his nostrils. The shape of a black crow could be seen on his chin.
Elena’s eyes shifted to her side, where Miles was standing. “Please tell me he meant you with that whole ‘chosen one’ bit,” she muttered to him
“To think these old bones would be blessed to see the day of your arrival, Dame Elena,” said the old man.
She sighed.
Bending knees so worn-down they appeared about to crack, the old man showed his respect toward a girl he’d never before laid eyes on. Elena, for her part, met such a formal welcome with a roll of her eyes.
“His name is Malachi,” said Miles. “He’s the patriarch of this place, and a master of Dark Magic.“
“Ahh, the creepy old wizard in a robe trope. Should I be worried?”
“Filthy brat! This robe is an important relic given to me by—” the man began to cough, realizing he’d behaved improperly. He regained his composure, then said. “I understand my appearance being a source of concern. But worry not, I harbor no ill will. I have made the appropriate accommodations for your comfort.” He paused. His head slowly raised, and he stared straight at Cordelia, who was being carried on Miles’ shoulders. “Albeit, I was not informed about that girl.”
Elena furrowed her brow, feeling uneasy about the scornful way he referred to Cordelia.
Miles, in contrast, maintained politeness. “She’s my sister. We managed to find her before meeting with the Queen. She’s sleeping right now.”
“I see. Consider yourself lucky. The Lord has blessed her,” said Malachi.
“Blessed her? She was a slave!” Elena protested, shattering her performance of politeness. With a few words, Malachi had managed to turn on a fuse within her, causing some concerned looks from her comrades to be aimed her way.
Malachi, for his part, only crackled again. “Such insolent words,” he said. He didn’t sound mad, instead speaking like a teacher giving a lecture. He continued, “A girl in such dire conditions is most susceptible to death. For her to even be alive is a form of mercy from The Lord.”
Not the worst example of logic stemming from a pious man she’d heard, but it made her fist clench all the same. There was no color that could paint Cordelia’s life as anything besides a nightmare. The kind of fate only monsters could inflict upon others.
Elena decided to remain silent for the time being, but her opinion of Malachi only sunk further, and her opinion of this so-called Lord was not much higher.
“Your accommodations will suffice. One of our members is staying behind on the ship,” said Leila in reference to Galen, who remained in his room crying out his sorrow. “And another…”
Leila began to choke on her words. She cast her head down.
“The other was dragged into the sea by a Death Siren,” said Charles, finishing her sentence. It was clear the event didn’t affect Charles as deeply, but he still spoke in a mournful manner.
“I see.” Malachi scratched his chin, then said, “I must sincerely apologize. I tasked Ronalma to sing a song meant to prevent Death Sirens from roaming the seas. I suppose it was ineffective.” He let out a discrete laugh. “I guess The Lord’s arrival is truly coming soon.”
“Your excuses don’t amount to jackshit, old man,” Elena said.
“Elena, please behave,” Charles said. His body was shivering in fear of what fate the loud-mouthed girl could get them into.
“I understand, Chosen One. So I hope it pleases you to hear that those who are taken captive by Death Sirens are said to awake on this shore about a week after being captured.”
Everyone’s eyes celebrated at learning that information.
“Of course, those are only theories, but all forms of hope are good. At least, that’s what I believe.”
As faint as it was, the possibility of Bronson being alive was enough to ease their worries for the time being.
“Now please, follow me. I shall lead you to the village.”
----------------------------------------
The village was an uncanny painting, shaped by both color and black. The many houses had the size of huts, yet they looked like works of art rather than of necessity. Each roof featured gargoyles of different kinds of misshaped birds, with similar shapes carved into the black wood. Lavender and Marigold flowers adorned the sides of the road, the only splash of color on the gothic landscape. They were placed one next to the other with unnatural precision, the distance between every flower equal even when measured with a ruler.
“Somehow, the flowers only make me feel even more uneasy.”
“Probably because these flowers are artificial. No flowers grow in this place,” Miles explained, walking next to Elena. Charles, Leila, and Malachi followed right behind.
“Dang, you can tell just from looking at them? Impressive.”
“When you spend so long at sea, you learn to cherish every flower you see.”
Elena hadn’t considered that. It was only logical for Miles, who’d been raised by nothing but endless images of sky and sea, to grow an appreciation for flowers and architecture.
So adorable Elena thought. As she did every time pretty much every time she interacted with him.
She was absentmindedly staring at him, savoring the sight of his adorably long nose. This distraction prevented her from noticing the obstacle before her.
“GAH!” she yelled as she bumped into a humanoid-shape, which caused her to fall backward to the ground.
Her scream was one of surprise. It would be followed by a scream of terror.
“AHHHHHHHHHHH!”
When she looked upward, the gray sky was the expected sight. Instead, her biggest fear appeared before her.
A Kabeast. A Kabeast not unlike the ones that had torn her body apart limb by limb. Her eyes identified the shape as a Kabeast, despite their desire to look away.
Her entire body tensed up. She didn’t understand. Why? Was she about to die? She was meant to be safe. She was surrounded by her friends. Why was this demon breaking into her world at a time she was meant to be safe? It was unfair, it was—
“Descansar. Criatura. Abortar.”
Before her friends could brandish their weapons and cut the beast apart, the Kabeast crumbled into a pile of bones.
“Sorry for the scare! Children, I told you not to summon Kabeasts all willy-nilly!
The one apologizing was a young woman with long brown hair. The bags beneath her eyes showed signs of lack of sleep. On her forehead, a black tattoo with the shape of a crow could be spotted.
“Let me introduce you all to Naomi“ Malachi said. “She looks after the village children.”
“You take care of all children here?” asked Elena, worried about the workload that implied.
“It’s not the most glorious of jobs, but I do what I can to support the community,” said Naomi with a warm smile. A smile that then gave way to a threatening frown worthy of a devil, as she turned to face the nearby kids. “Apologize to the Chosen One for your behavior!”
“We apologize, o’ chosen one.” A choir composed of nine girls sang an apology, with a formality so uncanny it seemed drilled into the children. Many of them possessed similar Crow-shaped birthmarks, although in which part of the body it was differed for each girl.
“Why were you letting children summon those creepy things anyway?” asked Elena.
“Kabeasts are only dangerous at night,” Naomi explained. “Our population is low, so we use Kabeasts to fulfill tasks we otherwise lack the manpower for.”
“Yeah! We needed an extra player, so we tried to summon a beast for our team.”
“Player?”
Elena noticed that one of the girls was holding a round ball in their hands, about the size of an average ball in football. The girl attempted to excuse their behavior, but she only managed to piss off Naomi further.
“That’s because you girls insist on ignoring poor Shiri!” she scolded them
The girl in question was sitting by the shadow of a nearby tree. At the mention of her name, Shiri briefly glanced in Elena’s direction. Her shy purple eyes appeared cursed, and the woe her overall expression portrayed only reinforced that impression. The white hair adorning her head made her appear sick.
But perhaps most eye-catching were her arms—or lack thereof.
“We can’t play with her!” the girl with the ball complained. “She doesn’t have arms.”
The girls began passing the ball among themselves, catching it with their hands as if demonstrating what separated them from Shiri.
Elena, however, was not impressed.
“Using your hands with a ball shaped like that? Disgusting. Give me that!” She stepped forward and caught the ball in midair. She’d already esteemed it to be so while watching it fly, but holding the ball in her hands only confirmed her calculations. The ball was also the same weight as a normal football ball.
“Probably better than the Jabulani, at least!”
“Jabuwhatnow?” asked Naomi.
“Don’t worry. You wouldn’t get it.”
Naomi tilted her head and furrowed her brow. Charles then chimed in. “Don’t worry. You get used to her nonsense words eventually.”
Elena approached Shiri. “Come here,” she said, gesturing with her hands.
The little girl simply stared up at Elena, not saying a word.
“Chosen One, this is a waste of our time. I must lead you to your place of stay,” said Malachi.
“Take everyone else, I’ll catch up to you later,” Elena said. “There is football to be played.”
“F—football?” said everybody besides Elena, their voices in synch.
“Is that another of those ‘nonsense words’ you mentioned?” Naomi asked Charles.
“In effect,” he confirmed.
Ah, I see what’s happening.
Elena smirked. This was her moment. The fact that everybody voiced their confusion, rather than just the residents of Dead God’s Isle, showed that football as a concept did not exist.
Most Isekai stories had the protagonist inventing Mayonnaise, or books, or some kind of technology.
Her destiny? To invent The Beautiful Game.
“It is time to introduce these silly people to my superior culture—wait, no, that sounds really bad now that I say it out loud. Ehem, it’s time to colonize—no wait, that sounds even worse. You know, a lot of Isekai is kinda uncomfortable when you stop and think about it…”
At this point, everybody was staring at her with questioning looks. So, she cut to the chase. She let the ball fall to the ground, and lightly kicked it.
“We’re gonna play using only our feet,” she said, giving a demonstration. One that ended with the ball slipping beyond her control, as despite her boisterous attitude, she was terrible at ball handling. “Hence the name, ‘football’. Okay, I guess that’s not actually why it’s called that, but that’s a story for another day.”
Regardless, it impressed the girls. “Your feet? Isn’t that harder?”
“Yep. And that’s precisely the point!”
Elena continued explaining the rules, while Miles and the rest continued on their way to their place of stay.
----------------------------------------
“This is… certainly luxurious,” Leila said.
After months of sleeping at sea, it was a shock to their system to be treated to such extravagance. Despite not looking any different from the other houses, the walls on the inside were made of gold, and the floor was decorated with an exquisite red carpet. To their right, a metal table featuring all manners of fresh fruit. Acting as something of a lounge, there were two couches in the middle of the room, as well as a table with playing cards.
“Before his the decisive battle, our Lord left us with precise instructions on how to treat you upon the arrival of the Chosen One.”
“Is that a music machine?” Charles asked, pointing to a device positioned right before the farthest wall. It featured a glass compartment, with a Wind Crystal inside to power it.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“You are correct, Young Prince,” Malachi said.
“I thought you lot despised the Goddess’ Craft?” explained Charles.
“Did you pick that up from a book?” Leila teased.
Malachi cackled. “We are forbidden from employing any device powered by those sacrilegious crystals. But we do make an exception for those found here, which are reserved for your use. You can also find a refrigerator with food.”
Charles, who was silent but actively listening, then said, “So you’re saying that the Crow Lord himself prepared this house just for us? Am I really meant to believe that?”
The Crow King. Humans in this world are born to fear the sound of that name. Entire histories are said to have met their end in the wake of his ambition and brutality.
Thankfully, he had been killed 500 years ago. Following the War of the Barrier, a conflict that spanned generations, Goddess Mary defeated the forces of he who intended to engulf the world in Darkness. After the decisive battle, she spent her dying breath casting a barrier that surrounds the entire continent of Manposito to this very day. Those who stepped outside the confines of the Goddess’ protection barrier were at risk of succumbing to the Crow King’s latent dark aura, transforming all non-marked into cursed Kabeasts.
The Hellwaves’ Traveler was a unique ship possessing the ability to create a barrier not unlike that of the Goddess. It was this quality that allowed the Dead Sea Pirates to travel the cursed sea in a safe manner… albeit at risk of the occasional attack from Kabeasts. The barrier's blessings lasted about a week, permitting the crew to spend the night outside the ship, even in a land like this, beyond the reach of the Goddess.
“His orders have been passed down since the war. As his followers, we must abide by his word. So please, make yourself comfortable.”
With that explanation, Malachi abandoned the hut-turned-hotel.
As soon as the old man abandoned the building, Charles began to complain. “You lot are crazy for coming here regularly! These people are followers of the Evil One!”
“Relax, princey boy,” said Leila, throwing herself into the nearest couch. “That guy is dead and buried. Queen Imogen has restored relations with the people on this island. They have nothing to gain from attacking us.”
“And what exactly does Malachi have to gain by allying with Imogen anyway?” said Charles.
“Do I need to remind you of the aftermath of the war?” said Leila. “You should know it better than any of us.”
The war in question was not the War of the Barrier. Instead, Leila spoke of what has come to be known as the Border War. It was a conflict much smaller in scope, but that occurred within living memory. A territorial dispute that ended with the annexation of the southern regions of Eternasia, its length spanned a single year, yet saw a level of bloodshed unprecedented for a people used to peace.
Generally, when people of the continent spoke of “a war”, the Border War was what they meant. The fact that Malachi had said “a war” to refer to an event that was by now ancient history was fairly unusual. It was a demonstration of how isolated this island truly was.
“Was Imogen really that desperate for allies?” said Charles.
“I mean, pretty much.” Leila crossed her legs. “Where else is she gonna find people who hate Luzterna? In the Meritocracy? Yeah, right.”
Leila snickered at the very idea. She was born in the Meritocracy of Efrener, northwest of the Old Kingdom of Eternasia. An empire that prided itself on rewarding those who worked their hardest and punishing those who were slothful. At least, that was the official line. Leila had always referred to it as “a junkyard” ripe with misery of all kinds, and claimed she would never return there so long as she lived.
More relevant to the conversation at hand, the Meritocracy had been aligned politically with Luzterna ever since the day of the Kingdom of Light’s birth. During the Border War, Efrener had stayed neutral, but was said to sell weapons to Luzterna in secret. In the case of a full-scale conflict however, Efrener would certainly join the fighting proper, and Eternasia would be under attack on two borders. It was no surprise then that Imogen sought allies from beyond the Dead Sea.
“Listen kiddo,” Leila said to Charles, “I’m sure you still have some love for the land of your birth. But anyone outside of that shithole would celebrate if tomorrow it disappeared from the map.”
Charles bit his lower lip, hurt by Leila’s sharp tongue.
Miles saw the direction the convo was headed, and cut it off by saying, “Imogen also needs the sword that’s sleeping in this place. I remind you both that tomorrow, we’re going into the Sanctuary to search for it. So stop it with the squabbling and get some rest.”
He lay Cordelia’s body on the couch opposite Leila’s. Then, he turned around and stepped toward the door.
“Wait there, young man! You order us to go to bed, then just sneak out?”
“I am going to train by the woods. Practice in solid land will be crucial in case we find any Kabeast in the Sanctuary.”
“Wait, Miles, I’ll go with you!” said Charles with a puppylike expression. “I need to train as well.”
“Are you sure your princely behind isn’t tired?” Leila teased.
“I’m more than fine. So much so, I am sure I will land a blow on Miles today!” He motioned with his hands to psyche himself up.
Leila wasn’t too convinced. She shifted her eyes toward Miles, and asked, “Has he landed a blow on you before?”
“Not in any of the five sessions so far.”
“I got close one time!” he bellowed. “Besides, there’s a first time for everything. Let’s go.”
----------------------------------------
Their sparring blades clashed with intensity, the clanking steel awaking the moon from its slumber. Nearby trees danced to the beat of the cacophony of strikes, their steps guided by the blowing wind.
As expected, Charles’ swordplay remained nowhere near Miles’. He remained too aggressive, too risky. Every blow Charles attempted seemed designed to be his last, putting the entire strength of his being into the dance of his blade.
Such an approach to fighting may prove worthwhile when fighting against chumps, where a single stroke could mean victory. But in a drawn-out duel between powerful combatants, it was key for Charles to be flexible.
Every time Charles went on the offensive, Miles repelled all his blows with quick flicks of his wrist. The inefficiency of his attacks only served to anger Charles further, meaning he spent even more energy with each attack, which caused him to tire quickly.
With Charles panting heavily, all Miles had to do was tap him with his arm to knock the prince to the ground.
“URGH. You beat me again.”
“You defeated yourself. You wore your body down needlessly,” said Miles, extending an arm to help him get back up.
“But you kept parrying all my swings! How am I meant to break your defenses.”
“Patience. It is better to strike at the correct time once, than to attack senselessly a hundred times.”
“Isn’t waiting around just gonna get me killed?”
“Maybe,” Miles admitted.
“That doesn’t sound very reassuring!”
Miles laughed at the boy’s face of stress. He then added, “But maybe dying is better than certainly dying, which is what happens to the reckless. Save your stamina for the appropriate moment. Else you’ll end up tired and become dead meat.”
“Understood.” Charles took a sip out of a water bottle. “I think that’s enough for the night.”
“Wait, there’s something else we need to do.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t you remember why we let you join the crew?”
A skill only those in the Royal Family possessed. The ability to carry out the Sword Dance of Light. Said to borrow the power of the Goddess herself, to perform such an ancient technique required the use of the rare and expensive Light Crystals. Only the Royal Family of Luzterna had easy access to a reserve of them. Thankfully, Charles had grabbed about a dozen before he abandoned the Royal Palace.
“I want to learn to wield the power of Light. It will come in handy for tomorrow’s dungeon crawl,” said Miles.
“Are you sure you want to run down one of our precious few Light Crystals for the sake of training? Isn’t it better to just rely on me in case things go awry.”
“I plan on learning sooner or later,” Miles replied. “I want to master all five Elemental Sword arts like the Black Swordsman did.”
“Oh, I see then how it is.”
“Huh?” Miles tilted his head at Charles, who made a funny expression.
“You are trying to replace me! So that I will no longer be useful and you can kill me without any loss to your cause!” Charles pointed his finger while stomping his feet, like a cartoon.
“Negative,” Miles said. “Stop being a buffoon. Teaching me was part of the deal for letting you join us.”
“Well, it’s just…”
Charles’ few remaining words lost their sound as they were leaving his mouth. He appeared to be stimming by repeatedly playing with his blonde, unkempt hair. His skin was so pale, the moonlight that illuminated him appeared crepuscular in comparison.
“Answer me, Miles. What leads a powerful man to yearn for further power?”
The question befuddled Miles. Yet the green eyes of the young man who’d raised the question stared at him with such childish sincerity, there was no other option. Miles possessed the answer to that question. For the only way that boy could entertain such questions in the first place was by observing Miles.
“You are already the strongest warrior in Manposito. You have mastered the Sword Dance of two elements, Fire and Wind—a feat only the Black Swordsman has achieved in the past. And yet, you seek further power.”
Miles now understood Charles’ curiosity. And he answered it curtly. “My father ordered me to be the strongest. That’s all.”
“Really? That’s all?”
“Yep. A sword has no desire of his own. All it can aspire is to be the sharpest.”
Charles stared intently at Miles’ golden eyes. A smile then grew on his face. Out of that mouth, a laugh began to seep out.
“Then I guess I cannot teach you.”
Miles raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean.”
Charles drew his sword out of its scabbard, before slotting a Light Crystal in the handle. “Light is life itself. It is the fuel of the soul.”
Miles listened to Charles. The student had now become the instructor, his speech seasoned with a wisdom uncanny for the boy who, minutes before, was throwing tantrums like a petulant child.
“I was trained in the Sword Dance of Light by my older brother. I… wanted to be like him so much. That was my path, my source of life.”
Prince Johan of Luzterna, firstborn son, heir to the throne and brother to Charles. The Warrior Prince who met his end on a battlefield.
Seeing grief build up on Charles’ face, Miles said, “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t worry,” Charles said, vanquishing any hint of tears. “After his death, I was aimless, and lost my ability to wield the light. I was so depressed, I could do nothing but sink my head into book after book. That was until I read one uplifting story of a Prince finding his own way after losing his kingdom. It was within those pages that I found a new will to live. I thought, maybe I too could forge a new path for myself.”
A will to live. Did Miles possess such an abstract thing?
For so long, his objective had been to find his sister. But with that accomplished, what remained?
Only one image sprung to Miles’ head. A girl with brown hair, whose very existence served to ignite Miles’ heart.
“I know it sounds silly, to be inspired by something silly like a story. But you can’t argue with results.”
“I don’t think of it as silly at all. In fact, I envy you,” Miles said.
“How so?”
“I have nothing of the sort. Better a story than nothing at all, don’t you think?”
Charles smiled, then tightened the grip on his blade. “Goddess. It might be sacrilege for a sinner as myself to borrow your might, but please… bless my sword with the power to vanquish evil!”
In an instant, Charles’ blade shone more intensely than a thousand suns. A power so awe-inspiring, it exceeded the eye’s ability to process. It was Miles’ soul what recognized the glow before him.
Charles swung his arm, and a disk of light flew across the air. It had the width to hit multiple trees at the same time. Said trees were not hurt by the Light of Life. Instead, cherry blossoms bloomed within those branches, a beauty unseen in the drabness of the woods.
Charles withdrew his sword, but not before removing the Crystal and handing it to Miles. “I need to sleep, but if you want to keep practicing, let me leave you with your first lesson… If you have anything that lights up your life, channel it into your blade.”
With those words, Charles waved goodbye and began his gait back to the hut.
Before leaving earshot of Miles, he said, “Oh, by the way, Elena is hiding behind the bush over there.”
“Yeah, I already know,” Miles replied.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
Like a child found in hide-and-seek, Elena came out of hiding with slumped shoulders.
“I’ll leave you two,” Charles said, then made his exit.
“Spying on us again?” Miles said.
“Nonononono… okay, yes.” Elena’s index fingers kissed one another. “So, light magic, huh? Pretty cool.”
“Not magic. I am channeling the Mana from the crystal into—”
“So magic, then.” Elena pulled out her tongue and winked. She understood the difference between both concepts, she was just fooling around. “You look pretty crestfallen for someone learning a new kickass technique.”
“You are using the word ‘learning’ very loosely. I doubt I can master Light.”
“Why? You are preeeety capable, if you ask me. Or if you ask anyone, really.”
Miles let out a sigh. “I am not infallible. I have tried to master Water before, but I simply couldn’t put my mind to it.”
“How so?”
“I am a sword before I am a man. All I know how to do is kill. I lack the empathy needed to—GAH”
Before he could finish expressing his sorrow, a round object impacted his chest—a round ball, to be precise.
“Listen to Mr. Edgy the Hedgy over here. Give me a break. Here, let’s play some football, that’ll cheer you up!”
“Football?” Miles scratched his head at the unfamiliar word.
“A game that I just totally invented and copyrighted earlier with the island kids. Yep, my invention, no one else’s. You play it by kicking the ball. Come on, pass it to me.”
Miles stared at the ball, then at the girl who smiled widely at him.
He didn’t understand what was the point of it, but since Elena asked him to, he would comply. “Ok, here I go.”
He lightly tapped the ball with the side of his foot.
It became a missile.
The ball caught fire as it traveled, before colliding with Elena’s face. It was unclear in the dark, but it appeared as if multiple teeth flew out in several directions. Elena fell to the ground face-up. The ball then soared vertically, before crashing back down; it bounced on Elena’s head multiple times, each bounce accompanied by a groan of pain.
“Elena, I am so sorry. I—”
“Don’t waste your time. I do not forgive you,” Elena said in a stentorian voice, still lying on the ground.
“What?” Miles exclaimed.
“You hurt me so badly, you think your words alone can earn you forgiveness.”
“I…I…”
He was heartbroken. Her words held his heart in a grip. The light that illuminated the world seemed to vanish the longer time passed.
He could not live. Not with the knowledge of having harmed her. Not without her grace.
“So, if redemption is what you want… you shall pay by planting a kiss on these lips!” She brought a finger to her lips.
“W—What? I am not doing that!” Miles hid his face, which had become painted red like a tomato.
“Te-hee. I’m joking, I’m fine.” She winked, before rising to her feet.
“Don’t mess with me like that!” Miles said, crossing his arms.
“Sorry, sorry.” She tapped his shoulder. “You just sounded so angsty, I thought it would do you some good to have some fun.” Elena’s hands messed with the ball, likely a way to keep her hands busy while she considered what to say next. Eventually, she found the words she was seeking. “That whole ‘not having a will to live thing’… is that true?”
The heavy shift in her tone rendered Miles speechless. Elena’s eyes, which were a deep black, were counterintuitively beaming with light. Her hair danced to the sound of the wind. The moonlight brought out the beauty of her pale skin, resplendent like an angel.
Witnessing the portrait of this beautiful girl staring at him with such tenderness, light began to flow inside Miles.
“Listen, I know things can be rough, but—”
“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” Miles cut her off. He drew his blade, and slotted in the Light Crystal Charles had handed him.
Miles, who was staring at Elena, physically closed his eyes. But the image they projected onto his mind was not erased, not in its entirety. The drab painting of a forest at night began a process of correction, carefully removing the traces of deep colors that signified the presence of darkness.
Slowly, more and more light began to seep into that dry world. Light overtook the trees made of dark wood, light overtook the sky of dark clouds, light overtook the occasional crow sneaking into frame.
The light of life sought to consume all that composed that world of Death the Crow King had built.
And yet, Elena’s frame remained.
She stood against a background of light, the remains of that worthless world. In his mind, she was his light, the fuel of his soul.
“Goddess, lend your power to this humble blade!”
Miles opened his eyes. But even before he did so, he could confirm his success. He could feel his sword glow with the power of the Goddess, a glow so mighty it threatened to overwhelm the horizon that hid far away.
“That’s my Miles! I knew you could master—”
A power too fierce to control, a power too fierce to predict. To Elena’s surprise, his sword produced a shockwave, knocking Miles backward. His back crashed with a nearby tree, causing an apple to fall on his head.
“—it. Oh shit! Miles, are you ok!” She rushed to his side.
“No, I am not,” he said, resting on the ground. “I… I think I might die.”
“What? Are you serious?” Elena panicked. She had no way to imagine how disastrous failing to control the power of Light could be. She glanced in all directions. “What am I supposed to do?”
“There is one thing you can do… kiss me.”
“Like a True Love’s Kiss? Ok, I will do anything… wait a minute!”
Elena’s face froze once she realized she’d been duped. Her pale cheeks began to blush,
Miles laughed maniacally as he got up. “We are even now.”
She crossed her arms and pouted. “Geese, you’re mean. I was really concerned for you there.”
“So was I when you pulled your prank,” Miles retorted.
“But that wasn’t as serious! Besides, you know I’m always up to some tomfoolery, so you could’ve predicted it. How was I supposed to expect you of all people to mess with me? You are not one for jokes”
Miles smiled, with a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time. “I am not normally the kind to crack jokes. You are correct.”
Miles briefly paused his speech. He needed some time to properly choose the words he was about to say, for he needed words that spoke of the light that dwelled within his soul. If he failed to convey their meaning, then he’d fail to convey to Elena his will to live.
“Thank you, Elena. When I’m with you, I just feel more…human. I feel I can forget my worries, and simply breathe.”
Miles inhaled deeply with his nose. Dead God’s Isle may be a gloomy junkyard that reeked of death. But the air that entered his lungs was filled with life.
“I… will go rest for tomorrow. Please do the same.”
Elena remained frozen in awe, so much so she didn’t reply at first. Eventually, she said, “Yes. See you tomorrow.”
----------------------------------------
Miles returned to the hut, his heart still dancing in remembrance of his time with Elena. Light bulbs powered by Fire Crystal provided light to the main lounge even at night. Five doors could be seen, one of which led to the room that was assigned to him. Miles’ body had some stamina remaining, but he was still too tired to do anything but collapse into bed.
At least, that was his plan.
“Lord Brother.”
Right as he was about to open the door, a voice so faint it could pass for a whisper called for his attention.
In his haste, Miles had overlooked his young sister sitting on one of the couches. She held a book in her hands, one he recognized.
“Oh, Cordelia, what are you doing this late at night?”
He raised his question, despite possessing a hint of what the answer was. Cordelia’s book once belonged to his mother. It wasn’t a storybook, though; it contained a list of Water spells, some of which she would cast back when she was alive.
She stood up. “I was simply reading.” Cordelia’s answer partly confirmed Miles’ suspicions. But she was playing shy about the identity of the book itself.
“I see. Do you need me for anything?” Miles said. He carried himself with manners too formal for a regular brother-sister relationship.
Cordelia stood up, and stared intently. Her lips quivered, as if they couldn’t make way for the words that she wanted to say.
“If it is not too important, please talk to me tomorrow.”
“Are you in love with Lady Elena?”
Miles was astonished by the weight of that sudden question. He remained there, frozen, trying to process the situation. His quiet, demure little sister had enunciated her words with a fire able to ignite the sky. She wasn’t a child asking a curious question, but a hawk planning their next move.
“Because I must let you know. Even if you are… I don’t plan to lose. Even if we have to fight to the death, I will not lose.”
The girl faced Miles straight, a look so sharp it felt it could slice him in half. Miles, for his part, possessed a blade that definitely could slice her petite body in half. But that fact was irrelevant. Cordelia’s resolve would not waver even before the strongest warrior on the planet.
A passion so raw, so ferocious that even Miles felt tiny compared to it.
“ You have nothing to worry about. I am not in love with Elena.”
It was a lie. But a lie that brought a positive effect, an effect Miles hoped for. The murderous intensity of Cordelia’s stare diminished, and the innocence he associated with her eyes returned.
“I see… in that case have a good night’s rest,” Cordelia said. Following a polite bow, she opened the door to her room.
“Wait a minute, Cordelia,” Miles called out.
Cordelia halted her movements, and curiously stared at him.
“I know you’re not just reading for pleasure’s sake. I’ve heard you sneaking into Mother’s library, and taking a look at her books of spells. That’s how you learned that powerful spell from last night, right?”
Cordelia bit her lip in a discreet fashion, a rare display of emotions.
“I… wanted to learn all I could about Mother. So that I could help Lady Elena.”
“I see.” Miles scratched his chin and closed his eyes. “Then I have both a tip, as well as a request.”
“I do not comprehend,” Cordelia said.
She did not comprehend, and neither did Miles. There was no reason for him to provide the information he was about to spill. He was only about to help his rival in the process.
Perhaps his willingness to do so was an admission, a surrender.
If there was to be a competition for Elena’s feelings, he’d rather not take part in it.
“Elena… she’s been suffering from recurring nightmares.”
Cordelia opened her mouth wide. For the emotionless girl to express herself nonverbally, it meant what she’d just heard had shocked her to her core.
“When I was a kid, I used to have nightmares too. But she used a spell to ease my suffering. Since I was asleep, I didn’t know how the spell goes, but I’m sure she wrote it down somewhere. So, my request is—”
“Understood.”
She was a clever girl. She did not need Miles to put the two-and-two together for her.
By sharing this, Miles had helped Cordelia in the way she hoped for most. She’d told Cordelia a memory of their mother she had no access to. At the same time, Cordelia could seek this spell and use it to help Elena—growing closer to her in the process.
“I shall use Mother’s knowledge for Lady Elena’s sake.” She turned around to enter her room, before saying to Miles who was facing her back, “Thank you for telling me this…Brother.”
Miles was left alone in the lounge.
“I am just a blade, after all.”
Miles spoke to nobody, except perhaps the right hand he was staring intensely at. In his view, his skin was made of steel.
His were hands that killed. His were hands that killed women, women like Agnes, that girl he once loved. Or rather, that he claimed to love, just like how his father claimed to love his mother. If he truly did love her, then his hands would not have showered on her blood.
So, in a way, he hadn’t truly lied when he told his sister that he didn’t love Elena. So long as he possessed hands able to kill her, he could not love her.
“My precious little sister… I entrust her to you. Please make her happy.”
He wept briefly, then wiped his tears away, banishing them. They would be the last tears he’d ever devote to Elena. From the moment dawn arrived, his heart would course-correct and concern itself with only the goal entrusted to him by his father. To become the strongest.
—After all, it would be most cruel for an inhuman blade like him to stand in the way of love.