“Thank you for gathering at such short notice,” Fourier said with a practised smile, allowing the light blue glow from the Sceptre to subtly intensify. He was thankful that the Sceptre still worked at all as its light helped conceal his still tarnished armour, but he supposed that it had been bound to him ever since Julius had severed the greater connection at the temple.
He’d never been the one to care most for appearances, but even he had to admit he’d never expected the day to come where he was addressing the full council in ash-covered armour.
“There is urgent new information that we just received recently that will undoubtedly shake our beloved Kingdom,” Fourier said slowly, sweeping his eyes across the room only to linger on Miklotov before continuing.
“The Divine Dragon Volcanica, our protector and hero, is now dead.”
He stood still, watching as his audience slowly took in his words, seeing the flashes of realisation as they finally understood him, and hearing the clattering of chairs as several jumped to their feet.
“What? What did you just say?” one asked, his face warring between an expression of anger and fear. “If this is some kind of joke or test, know that it is in very bad taste! The Divine Dragon… Volcanica would not simply die!”
“That’s right! Your Majesty, please explain what you mean.”
Fourier remained silent, letting his council voice their thoughts. They did so, all speaking out of turn, and murmuring to the others by their sides.
Only Miklotov remained silent, watching Fourier with a stone-cold expression. He lifted a hand for silence, and the others gradually calmed down, getting back into their chairs.
“I know you, Your Majesty. You would never bring a claim such as this to us without damning evidence,” Miklotov stated, his speech level and even. To an untrained eye, it might appear that he was unperturbed, but Fourier knew the old man. He was strictly controlling his tone and enunciation to ensure he did not betray his inner feelings.
He hesitated a moment, then powered on, “May we also see it?”
Fourier nodded. “Of course.”
He picked up the mirror and passed it to the nearest council member, who took it in both hands. He was trembling, Fourier noted.
“I provide the council with live evidence provided by a conversing mirror located in the Lifaus Plains,” he said, turning back to the other members of the council. “It is currently the only one present, and for security reasons, I have prohibited connecting any new mirrors to it. Please be patient and wait for your turn to witness it for yourself.”
Some of the councillors didn’t seem happy about that, but most nodded amicably. No one would want to be rushed when trying to examine the evidence Fourier was submitting.
The councillor with the mirror wasn’t even paying attention to Fourier anymore. He was looking at the open mirror, his face slowly going pale, his expression aghast.
The mirror on the other side had been positioned in such a way to easily display the Divine Dragon corpse, and while much of the body had been desecrated, any who had ever seen a painting of Volcanica would recognize his face.
The councillor only looked at it for a moment before hurriedly passing it on to the person beside him.
“We are still putting together a timeline of when Volcanica died, but I suspect this is why the ritual to contact him failed,” Fourier stated, studying the ashen faces of the ones the mirror reached, feeling sick to his stomach with horror… and the smallest trace of jealousy.
He knew that it was irrational, his family had been on the decline for months before they passed, and so many of them had time to mentally prepare themselves. He hadn’t even seen his council when the news first broke either, so it was entirely possible that they had been making the same expressions when they learned of his family’s sickness, and as they slowly realised that they were all going to die.
Yet he knew in his gut that to these council members, it was Volcancia who was truly important, not the royal family.
He shook his head.
Was he honestly any different? He’d considered the idea that Volcancia might fail to support Lugunica if he’d died before; it had been one of the things that haunted him while he had been laying on his deathbed. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that he would outlive his Kingdom’s god.
It seemed that even he had fallen for the idea that the Divine Dragon was immortal.
“What shall we do now? Is Lugunica doomed?” a pale-faced counsellor asked, looking at the mirror as if it had foretold their country's doom.
“Are you daft!? This is clearly a trick of some sort, to make up for the Divine Dragon’s lack of support!” another member snapped, blood dripping from his clenched fist. He hadn’t seen the scene in the mirror yet. Was it just his fear talking?
“Think about which of us is really in denial,” a third member interjected. “I have checked the mirror myself, and it is genuinely connected to somewhere on the Lifaus plains. It is not displaying something that does not exist.”
“You say that as if our Divine Dragon dying is a more realistic assumption,” snapped another. “The so-called impossible has been accomplished before, and deceiving our senses is anything but impossible. Perhaps there is a mage standing in the middle of nowhere showing us an illusion, or a team of Earth mages built a model out of dirt! There are any number of possibilities to consider before believing this… this farce!”
“It isn’t just the mirror,” Fourier interrupted the bickering, keeping his voice calm, but cold. Normally he’d allow his council members to debate, and only join in when it was over to make a decision. That was the general advice Miklotov had given him. It was supposed to show that he was above being pulled into speculation, but in this case… appearing aloof would be the worst possible impression he could give.
“We have several more reports from the scouts near the plains, which is why a mirror was dispatched to the location as soon as I received a report,” Fourier stated, sliding the reports over for any of the more sceptical members to examine.
Those reports contained notices the capital had received from villages and towns all over the Lifaus plains. All contained the same details, that they had seen a shining light in the sky, and were preparing to investigate. Needless to say, Fourier had ordered all those investigations cancelled.
Several of the councillors immediately started pouring over the reports, but some looked as if the additional evidence was only causing them to panic further, as disbelief looked like it would turn into anger.
“May I ask what you intend to do next, Your Majesty?” Miklotov inquired, not bothering to even glance at the reports.
“I am deciding on if I should disclose this information to the public immediately,” Fourier said. “It should help us manage this disturbance, perhaps even stop the riots entirely, and should we try to hide it, I do believe we will fail. Too many already know something is there, and we cannot hope to hide his body secretly before they begin to investigate. Our refusal to confirm the matter would only buy a few days.”
“Extra days could mean a lot when it comes to organising our defences,” Miklotov said, stroking his beard in thought. “In addition, consider the disbelief in this very room, Your Majesty. We have the easiest ways of confirming the manner, from our reports to the Mirror, yet despite that, I see several members of this esteemed council still harbour doubts.”
“Defences?” Fourier asked, his mind catching on the first part of his most trusted advisor’s words. “You are referring to Vollachia, then?”
He felt a cold sweat run down his back. He hadn’t considered it, but the warlike empire to the south definitely wouldn’t take long to capitalise on Lugunica’s weakness.
“Are you saying that if we don’t confirm his death ourselves, Vollachia will refrain from attacking?” Fourier said, raising an eyebrow. “But if I recall correctly, their ruler holds all the decision-making power. Wouldn’t only their Emperor Vincent need to be convinced there is an opportunity for them to take action?”
“One could say the same about this kingdom, or any other monarchy, Your Majesty,” Miklotov replied. “Admittedly, Vollachia has historically given far more sway to its Emperor’s whims than Lugunica has its rulers. But even in Vollachia, I doubt that a young emperor would be able to gather the support needed to swiftly prepare an attack. With such shocking, frankly unbelievable, news, I wouldn’t doubt that there would be resistance in his own court.”
“You don’t think the odds are high that Vincent would send some of his Divine Generals to attack, even if he couldn’t get the bulk of the army?” Fourier asked, furrowing his brows. “I dislike assuming the worst of my fellow ruler, but if he attacks, then it is likely that multiple towns could be destroyed before we could respond, now that we are lacking Volcanica’s barrier.”
“It is unlikely that multiple of the Divine Generals would be sent out,” Miklotov said, raising a hand to stroke his beard as he thought. “Their primary purpose is to control their army after all, and it would be a disaster to lose multiple. I could foresee the possibility of sending a raiding force to destroy a village if they needed to force both sides to commit to a war. But there is little we can do to truly stop such an action.”
Fourier rubbed his temples, but couldn’t disagree. He’d need to dedicate magnitudes of resources and manpower to protect the kingdom from such an attack, whereas Vincent could decide on a target randomly. If he only wanted to provoke Lugunica into a war, there were dozens of small villages near the border that would make suitable targets, after all.
“It may also be wise to consider what message we’d send Vollachia if we released such vital information over a relatively small uprising. It would highlight the value we place on our citizens' well-being over national security,” Miklotov said, eyes crinkling, his mouth pursed slightly, as if he found the words he was uttering distasteful. But he uttered them regardless, because as the sage council, they had to consider every side of their decisions.
“Which isn’t the sort of message we’d want to send right before a potential war,” Fourier finished, unable to stop his own scowl from forming. “Still, you could say the same thing about a potential message to our own citizens. Are we telling them that we’ll lie and hide information that could save lives now, all to potentially stop a war that may not even form to begin with?”
For several seconds, the council watched in silence as the king and their most senior member locked eyes with each other, the blue light flickering like a heart-beat, steadily becoming more intense.
“There has not been a full blown war with Vollachia for hundreds of years now. I am well aware of the fact that it was Volcanica who put an end to our cycle of periodic wars. If not for the Witch’s Cult’s interference, they would not have even been able to bypass Vollachia’s barrier thirty eight years ago for the Sin Archbishop of Pride’s invasion.”
Fourier felt something rising in his chest as he spoke, a stubborn pride, a belief in his country.
“The possibility exists that with our Divine Dragon dead, our cycle of war will restart once more, but I refuse to believe that it’s inevitable, and to sacrifice our citizens' lives to gain an advantage for this theoretical war is something I refuse to condone.”
His people were strong. His people could endure. Volcanica had protected them for four hundred years, but they had endured for thousands before that.
“I would be perpetuating something I hate as well, better for Vollachia to think that we are fools who value our citizens then cold blooded tacticians that will sacrifice what we love most for a momentary advantage. With neighbours such as those, why would Vollachia not prepare for war?”
Lugunica had fought Volcanica many times in the past, and they had been bloodied by those battles, but they had just as often bloodied the Empire’s nose. Their border had rarely drifted beyond Picoutatte, and when it had, Lugunica had always been able to push it back south.
“I do not believe that just because in the past that our people hated one another, that we cannot one day become allies, friends even. Because Ferris is one of my closest friends despite his demi-human heritage, I will choose to believe that we can do the same with our hated enemy one day in the future.”
“You’ve made your decision then,” Miklotov noted, as the sage council’s murmuring slowly started to fill the chambers once more.
“I have,” Fourier confirmed. “I’ll have an announcement made and spread it throughout the capital. I won’t push for it to go beyond the capital just yet though, as it’s the only area suffering from these riots. If those near the border still believe Volcanica is alive it may still help us delay the issue by a few days.”
“A thoughtful compromise, Your Majesty,” Miklotov conceded gracefully, and although several exchanged looks of discontent, no council member raised an objection.
“In which case, we’ll need to address, where we will be primarily broadcasting from, the proof that we’ll share, and how to deal with the aftermath of this civil unrest.” Fourier said, preparing himself for what was sure to be a long meeting. He could only hope that Crusch was getting more rest then him.
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Crusch dashed through the chaotic streets, controlling her breathing as her eyes carefully tracked the way ahead. Swinging her sword in a broad arc, she blunted the wind she released, throwing several of the rioters off their feet. Many choose wisely, staying on the ground, but those who stood soon regretted it.
Behind her she could hear the rapid breaths being released by Ferris and Lord Edgar who had only been able to keep up the rapid sprint due to Ferris’s water magic continually refreshing the both of them. She felt a moment of pride in her friend, who’d grown so talented that even disoriented, he could easily maintain the healing of not only himself, but another as well.
They were heading straight towards the palace to give their report, and use the Conversation Mirrors to bring the full force of their strongest against the Witch Cultist. Never before had one of the Sin Archbishops of that organisation attacked the capital of a nation, and such an action needed a powerful response brought against it.
Roswaal and his butler were still there, fighting off the one known as Gluttony. Crusch had known there were other Sin Archbishops besides the infamous duo, Sloth and Greed, but information about any of the others was limited. Why had Gluttony chosen to reveal himself now? Was he a part of the assassination of the royal family, or was he simply taking advantage of the chaos?
And what had Roswaal known about him? Why had he been so insistent that they not use their real names?
But Crusch had no time to spend on those thoughts, as rebel after rebel attacked their small group, drawn by their comrade’s screams as Crusch knocked them off their feet.
Although it grieved her heart, responding to the Witch Cult was now of greater importance than ensuring a quick resolution to the rebellion.
Her blade swung, and rioters were thrown back, slamming into each other and the walls of the surrounding buildings.
Thankfully, none of her foes were persistent enough to force her to kill them yet, but she suspected that she’d soon need to bloody her sword with the lives of those she should be partially responsible for.
She’d noticed that as they grew closer to the capital, the rioters had started becoming more persistent, getting up after she had blasted them down, and some of them even started to use magic to try and fight her.
Crusch still dealt with them easily—they were civilians, unused to combat—but it was still taking more effort, and she was starting to tire.
“Clear a path!” she commanded, blasting out a shockwave of wind from another swing of her sword to accentuate her point. “On my authority as a noble of this kingdom, I order you!”
But the words had little effect. The rioters were already disobeying royal orders, what did it matter to them if they ignored a mere noble?
She heard a scuffle from behind her, and snapped her head to the side so she could peer back.
Two of the rioters had approached Ferris and Lord Edgar from behind, and now they lay on the ground, convulsing wildly, Ferris’s arms still outstretched.
He smiled a little sheepishly at her, and bent down to briefly give them another touch, to alleviate the worst of their symptoms.
Crusch wasn’t sure exactly what he had done, but she understood the hazards of healing magic used incorrectly. It could be incredibly dangerous, even life-threatening, though considering Ferris was the one who had used it, it was almost assuredly non-lethal.
“I’ve just put them to sleep for a few hours,” Ferris said as the two of them reached her. “I forgot they were still standing though, I usually use that when they’re already lying down. Don’t worry, they’re fine.”
Crusch nodded, continuing to eye the crowd still ahead of them. The rioters had the sense to stay an adequate distance away, but they still didn’t get out of their path. Crusch took a breath, and slowly exhaled.
She needed to get them to the palace quickly, so that they could alert the knights about Gluttony and get them to help Roswaal. She needed to bring Edgar to Fourier and make sure knowledge of the coming swarm was relayed to their forces.
And if the rioters kept getting in her way, she was going to have to treat them a little less kindly.
“Stay close,” she said, lifting her sword and pouring her mana into the blade, causing the wind to swirl around it in a vortex.
“We’re going to be moving quickly.”
Then she jabbed her blade forward, and a hammer of air broke the crowd in two.
She strode forward, releasing her grip on her sword with one hand, so that she could use her two hands independently. Her sword made circles in the air, and currents of air shoved against the surrounding crowd, a wind wall that tripped them up when they tried to approach.
A few of the rioters pushed through it, and Crusch raised her hand to them, flicking her fingers and sending out small bursts of wind to impact their temples, causing them to stumble back, and put an end to their attempts to approach them.
She expended only a minimum of effort to carry out those tasks, and more importantly, a minimum of mana. If she recklessly used too much of it, then she would exhaust herself long before she reached the palace.
The problem was that while her current method was more efficient, it also slowed their progress through the city to a snail’s pace.
“Tch,” Crusch hissed as one of the rioters, a heavyset man with a large wooden plank, pushed past her wind current and charged at them.
“For the Dra—oof!”
He was blasted back through the section of the crowd he had come from, sending dozens into a sprawling heap.
“How are there so many of them?” Ferris asked. “I’ve never seen so many people.”
“There are— hah—a surprising number— hah—of people in a city,” Edgar said between huffs of air. The old man was struggling, but their current, slower pace was letting him catch his breath a bit.
“Most of the time they’re more split up though, in— hah—buildings or whatnot. It’s only when they’re all on the streets that you get a— hah— glimpse of just how many there are.”
“Once we get to the noble’s district, there’ll be less,” Crusch said, glaring at one side of the crowd that seemed to be getting a bit too eager. “We’ll make up for lost time there.”
Then she swung her sword again, and the path in front of them was cleared.
As they drew closer and closer to the noble district, the crowd finally began to thin, and Crusch was able to set a faster pace, eventually dropping her wind wall and focusing instead on the occasional rioter that still tried to attack them.
It seemed most had realised trying to fight her would be pointless, and got out of her way while continuing to do what they had been doing.
She saw several groups of looters and more than a few bands of rioters carrying makeshift weapons. But if they didn’t bother her, then she could not justify stepping in to apprehend them. Securing aid for Roswaal came first.
A window smashed and Crusch thought she heard a yell, but she hardened her heart and kept moving. All she could do was through a few bolts of wind at the rioters trying to enter the building and knock them out. It wouldn’t be enough, and it was a single drop in the lake compared to all the trouble that was occurring on the streets.
But it was something, at least.
----------------------------------------
Finally, they reached the beginning of the noble’s district. Guards were standing along the road leading up the incline, and a large crowd had gathered. They weren’t trying anything yet, but Crusch didn’t know how long that was going to last.
The guards waved them through as soon as they saw her, and then they were free.
“We’ll pick up the pace here,” Crusch said, glancing back at the two of her companions. Ferris still appeared to be fine. He was probably using his healing magic to keep himself from tiring too much.
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Lord Edgar, on the other hand, was completely winded. Ferris conjured a healing orb to try and alleviate his exhaustion, but there was only so much he could do. Lord Edgar was old, his body wasn’t prepared to move so quickly.
“...perhaps we can refrain from rushing,” Crusch said. “It would serve no purpose if we arrived with you so—”
“No,” Edgar gasped out. He was bent over, hands on his legs to hold himself as he drew great gulps of air. “I am— hah— alright. We can’t— can’t stop now. Those youngsters need help. I can’t make them wait.”
“Those youngsters?” Ferris asked, still working his healing magic. “Roswaal is old as well, you know.”
Edgar grinned, his mouth twitching as he struggled to maintain it with his gasps for breath. “When you get as old as I am, everyone is a youngster to you.”
He shook his head. “And with the way he was moving like that, so fast and spry… he doesn’t deserve to be called elderly!”
He chuckled, then straightened himself up.
“Alright. I can keep going.”
Crusch met his eyes, and she saw the wind of determination flowing around him, soft and faint, but resolute.
“As you say,” she said, turning to glance up to the palace. It still seemed so far away. “If you need to stop, call out. I don’t want to have to bring your body back.”
Edgar chuckled again. “I daresay I will swallow my pride long before then. Perhaps I can have Sir Felix carry me if my legs grow too weary.”
“Eh?” Ferris looked at him, taking in his frail figure, and then looked at his arms. He wasn’t the strongest member of the Royal Knights, but…
“Well, I suppose I can try.”
Crusch felt a smile rise on her lips, and she lifted a hand to stifle a laugh.
Ferris gave her a mock glare.
“You think I can’t? I’ll prove I can! I’ll carry him all the way to—”
Then Crusch saw a shadow behind him, and her eyes went wide, the smile vanishing in an instant, and she readied her sword to swing.
Ferris had cut off as soon as he saw her expression change, and he was turning to see what had spooked her.
But there was no time for that.
“Ferris! Get down!”
He didn’t even hesitate. Despite still not seeing the threat Crusch had spotted, he lunged at Edgar and brought them both to the ground, clearing the way for Crusch to swing her blade in a wide arc.
Her ultimate technique shot out, and this time she held nothing back, lashing out with all her fury. The wind was sharp, strong enough to sheer through armour and all manner of defensive spells.
It shot out like an arrow, crossing the distance to her target in an instant…
And then it broke apart, shattering and unravelling as it came into contact with a single clawed hand. The hand of the Sin Archbishop of Gluttony.
“Ah?” the boy said, tilting his head, then whirling around and lashing out with his claws to finish off the two guards he had attacked.
He licked his hands, and turned back to Crusch. “You’ve interrupted us… that’s not very nice.”
He started walking towards them, each step graceful and refined, like he was a dancer performing in a play. Or perhaps a swordsman with immaculate footwork.
“Where is—” Crusch started, but cut off as she remembered Roswaal’s warning. “What happened to the ones who were fighting you?”
“Eh~?” the Sin Archbishop’s face fell, and he threw his hands out wide. “We couldn’t figure them out. Like eggs with a shell too tough to crack. We wanted to bite and munch and crunch, but it was taking too long. Mama said we had to make sure to follow orders, and that annoying woman wanted us to hurry up. So~ we had to leave them.”
He sighed, deep regret staining the winds that circled him.
Crusch frowned, eyes flitting over the rest of the guards controlling the crowds at the entrance to the noble’s district. None seemed to have noticed Gluttony’s appearance. They were too busy trying to dissuade the crowd from rioting.
And even if Crusch could alert them, how much help would they really be?
“Ferris, take Lord Edgar and run.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Crusch saw Ferris’s head snap around to her.
“Run!? No, I’ll stay! I can help!”
“We need to get this information back to the palace,” Crusch said. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of falling here.”
“Like you had no intention of falling in the fire?” Ferris growled. “I won’t.”
“Ferris—” Crusch started, the words dying in her throat. How could she argue with him? He was right, she hadn’t thought she would be cornered in the blaze, and he was right to be worried. But he wasn’t a fighter. He could do nothing more than throw himself at Gluttony as a distraction, and Crusch knew he would be willing to do that. Which is why she couldn’t let him stay.
“I don’t think it matters, Lady Crusch,” Lord Edgar spoke up. “He caught us easily here, if he defeats you and decides to pursue us, we will absolutely be caught. It’ll be safer if we fight him together.”
Crusch frowned but the decision was made for her.
“Well~ it doesn’t matter. We’ll try again later, once we finish here!”
Gluttony began walking towards them again, but then he frowned, and reached up to grab something near his ear.
He brought it in front of his face, a look of annoyance on his face, and his emotions spiking with frustration.
“Yes, yes, we know, we know,” he said, crushing the small black object—a beetle?—and popping it into his mouth.
He grinned—an awful, predatory smile—and Crusch felt herself tense.
“She’s so impatient, it’s so annoying,” he confided. “We just want to eat, we don’t care about her plans. Ah, but Mama said to listen, so we’ll listen.”
“Fine, you can stay, but stay back,” Crusch said, sinking into a defensive stance, preparing her sword and narrowing her eyes. She examined the boy’s emotions intently, determined not to miss a single sign of— now!
In an instant, Gluttony had crouched down and launched himself at her, his claws reaching out for her throat.
But Crusch had prepared, and as he approached, she side-stepped, and brought her sword down with a torrent of wind mana.
Gluttony hissed, then abruptly changed course, his leg slamming into the ground to bring him to a stop, bringing both sets of claws up to block the blade.
But this was Crusch’s hail mary play, a strike infused with almost all the mana she had left, so much that the sword was trembling at the force contained within it.
The blade tore straight through the boy’s oversized nails, and then continued onward to cleave into his body.
The wind mana in the blade exploded, and Gluttony was flung backwards, his body twirling through the air droplets of blood spinning a trail behind him.
But when he came down, he yanked himself around in midair, and landed the right way up, one hand on the ground, somewhat resembling a cat. He looked up at her with a grin.
“Well~! We’ve never seen that before!”
He lifted himself off the ground, and straightened out his clothes, threads of magic working their way through the tear Crusch had cut into them and sealing the fabric shut.
“Ah, we have to admit, this is kind of fun. Maybe brother isn’t so wrong? But he takes soooo long to eat…”
He looked thoughtful for a moment, then his face twisted up and he snarled, lashing out with his head, his jaws closing on something near him.
He chewed and swallowed, then growled. “We know, we know! We don’t need you to keep telling us!”
He turned his gaze back to Crusch, and this time his eyes were burning.
He didn’t bother to speak. He lunged, and Crusch prepared herself to retaliate. She had severely weakened herself with her last-ditch attack, and she didn’t have much left in her.
“Crusch!” Ferris cried out, lunging forward himself to try and get entangled in the fray.
“Ferris, don’t!” Crusch called, reaching forward to try and stop him, but Ferris was faster, and he got in front of her.
Gluttony reached them, extending his clawed hand…
Only to be rebuffed at the last second, an invisible force blasting into his side and catapulting him across the street.
“To risk yourself for the sake of your master. Approval. However, putting your teacher’s investment in you at risk… Inconsiderate.”
From out of nowhere, Roswaal’s blue-haired butler had appeared, one hand adjusting the monocle on his eye.
“Clind!” Ferris blurted out in an equal mixture of surprise and relief.
The butler frowned at him. “Using my name? Inconsiderate.”
Ferris clapped a hand over his mouth, but it appeared the damage had been done.
“Clind? Clind! That’s a strange name!” Gluttony’s maddened laughter rang out, as he drew himself back up from the ground. “But now we know it, now we’ll hunt you, now we’ll crunch you, now we’ll eat you!”
“I’m sorry—” Ferris started, but Clind waved him off.
“No matter. I am still capable of fighting him with less direct methods. Unhindered.”
“We’ll see about that~!”
Gluttony launched himself at Clind, claws extended and bearing his teeth.
The butler did not tense up or shift his stance in any way, seeming to merely watch as Gluttony drew closer and closer, but Crusch could see the way the wind drifted around him, a slow vortex that conveyed the utmost preparation and foresight.
As soon as Gluttony entered his reach, the butler struck.
One leg twisted in place, and the other swung upwards, aiming for the Sin Archbishop’s head.
Gluttony lifted a hand at the last second, blocking the strike with his upper arm, stumbling from the weight of the blow.
Clind stepped forward into the boy’s guard, and executed a flurry of jabs. Gluttony blocked two, but had to twist himself widely to the side to avoid the third.
He lashed out with his open hand, but Clind blocked with a knife-hand, striking Gluttony on the wrist.
Both combatants retreated, then eyed each other warily.
“His body is difficult to injure. Durable,” Clind commented. He didn’t seem overly worried, but then, neither did Gluttony. The Sin Archbishop’s emotions were a swirling mess of hunger, frustration, and a desire to win.
…no, not to win.
Crusch narrowed her eyes as she tried to understand the feelings the wind conveyed.
Winning was for fights between equals, for the triumph of having defeated a worthy opponent.
Gluttony only wanted to crush them underfoot, like a child playing with ants. The fact that these ants were able to fight back was annoying him greatly.
“Ferris, is Lord Edgar still able to run?” Crusch asked.
She heard the faint sound of Ferris’s healing orb behind her, and Edgar’s mumbled insistence that he was fine.
“Yes, a little,” Ferris said. “Ferri wyouldn’t want him to have to go too far though.”
“It’ll have to do,” Crusch said. “You two, run. I’ll help Clind keep Gluttony occupied.”
She heard Ferris’s intake of breath to argue with her, but before he could voice a word of complaint…
“I’m afraid I must belay that order. Refusal.”
Clind’s voice was still calm, but there was a trace of exasperation in his emotions.
“He has already run from myself and ‘Teacher’. He will not hesitate to do so again, and neither of them will be able to stand up to him.”
Crusch blinked as his words sunk in. She had only been thinking of getting Ferris out of danger. She had assumed Gluttony had managed to defeat Lord Roswaal and his butler, or at least forced them to retreat.
She only had his actions and the swirl of his emotions to guide her, but she didn’t think Gluttony was someone who would willingly try to get away while he had the opportunity to crush his opponent.
The fact that he had anyway implied…
“...he’s targeting us.”
Clind nodded. “Or perhaps, one of you three. Certainty.”
Gluttony scowled, and threw himself forward, spinning and jumping, lashing out at Clind’s head with a kick.
Clind ducked back to avoid it, then blocked Gluttony’s followup claw attack with another knife-hand.
Gluttony’s face twisted up with frustration as he lashed out again and again, trying to land a strike with his open hands, but every time he drew close, Clind was able to deflect his arm, or shift his body out of the way.
Finally, Gluttony seemed to have had enough. He sprung back, and then his eyes swivelled towards Ferris and Lord Edgar.
“Leaper!” he cried out, and he was no longer standing
Suddenly, he was no longer standing facing Clind. Instead, he had appeared right in front of Ferris, his hand lashing out.
Ferris drew back in alarm, pushing Lord Edgar away with one hand as he tried to get out of reach.
Crusch started moving, hand reaching out in a vain attempt to stop the Sin Archbishop’s attack. But she and Clind were too far away, there was nothing they could—
Then, for no reason that Crusch could see, Gluttony twisted in midair, calling off his attack and bracing his body, as if in anticipation of a non-existent blow.
But the blow was very much real. Something hit Gluttony in the side, and blasted him away from Ferris.
“For you to attack another party when engaged in combat with me. Rude.”
Clind took a few steps to bring him between Gluttony and Ferris, then took up his combat stance once more.
“You will not touch them while I am here. Guarantee.”
Gluttony hissed, and launched himself at Clind again, both combatants’ arms lashing out in a dazzling display of martial arts. Occasionally, Gluttony would try to use his ability to shift behind Clind to get the upper hand, but each time he was rebuffed by Clind’s invisible strike.
Crusch watched them, hand on her sword, ready to launch an attack of her own if Gluttony left himself open, but he was moving too quickly, and Clind was moving so much that if she attacked carelessly, she might hit him.
What is that attack he’s using? He did it when he first arrived as well.
Invisible attacks weren’t strange to Crusch. As a wind magic user, she herself knew how to use a handful of them. But the one Clind had used was beyond anything she had ever seen. It was able to attack from directions other than directly from him, and more unusually, it wasn’t even based on Wind magic.
If it was Wind, it wouldn’t have been invisible to her eyes, blessed as they were by her Divine Protection.
“What can we do?”
Crusch half-turned her head to bring Ferris into her view while also keeping an eye on the fight.
“I don’t think there is anything we can do to help,” Crusch murmured in reply. “They’re moving too much, and if we get too close we’ll only be in the way. But if we get too far, he won’t be able to protect us effectively.”
She paused.
“We’ll simply have to put our faith in him, and maintain our current distance if they drift closer to us.”
It burned to have to rely on a strategy like that, but Crusch had fought the Sin Archbishop, and she knew that he was more than capable of brushing past her defences.
They remained in place, watching the fight progress, moving back at Crusch’s direction, always at least twenty feet away from Gluttony.
The Sin Archbishop’s face was twisting up with fury, and Crusch could see the raging frustration building around him. His attacks grew more animalistic, using his claws, his feet, and even his teeth to try and deal some injury to the butler.
But Clind was able to deflect most of them, and those he did not were the kicks, more powerful than Gluttony’s claws, but seemingly less dangerous.
Crusch wasn’t sure why the butler was being so careful of Gluttony’s hands, but she had not seen him let the Sin Archbishop land even a single strike with them.
“KHAA!” Gluttony raged. “Stop that stop that stop that! Let us eat, we’re hungry, we need to eat them, we need to eat something!”
He shook his head, his neatly combed hair having long since come undone, so it waved wildly.
“Stop telling us, we know we have to! But we can’t! He won’t let us! What about you!? Why don’t you help us!?”
“Talking to someone who is not present,” Clind said, seemingly calm and dignified, not struggling for breath in the slightest. “Ungracious.”
But Crusch could see the winds of weariness surrounding him, giving lie to his apparent ease. The butler made no moves to capitalise on Gluttony’s momentary distraction. The lull in the battle was more valuable to him as a chance to rest.
Gluttony growled. “That’s not our fault. You shouldn’t have made a mistake like that! It’s your fault!”
For the first time since Crusch had seen the Archbishop, he froze, his eyes going wide and involuntarily taking a step back.
“No, don’t tell Mama. We’ll do it, we’ll do it!”
His eyes focused on Clind again, then snapped to Crusch and the other two, then went back to Clind, the desperate feral nature reminding her of a cornered animal.
He hissed, but he didn’t move, seemingly thinking through his options.
Clind simply stood there, his emotions clearly displaying that he was unconcerned. Gluttony had already shown himself to be unable to get past the butler’s defence, and even with the fact that he was tired, Clind didn’t seem to think that would change.
Crusch felt Ferris tense beside her, sniffing the air, then it was as if a warm breeze started blowing around him, as her Divine Protection interpreted his relief.
“He’s here,” he whispered, eyes locked onto the crowd at the entrance to the noble’s district.
Crusch looked over for herself, trying to spot what Ferris had sensed. But she already had a guess on her mind.
“Teacher is here.”
Lord Roswaal emerged from the crowd, his robe billowing behind him, holding several of what appeared to be shining stars of various colours between his fingers.
“I apologise for my tardiness,” he called out, drawing a hateful look from Gluttony.
“I had to make a small detour to retrieve some of these,” he continued, bringing one hand up, with three of his stars held between his four main fingers.
“Nasty person, dirty fighter, won’t even give his name! Not as good as the other one anyway, so it doesn’t matter!” Gluttony declared.
“Now, now,” Roswaal said, still walking closer. “It’s rude to judge based only on first impressions. I admit you caught me rather off-guard, but I’ll have you know that I am quite skilled in my own areas. Here, catch.”
He tossed one of the stars towards Gluttony, and his words and stance were so lacking in bloodlust and fighting intent, so calm and comforting, that even Gluttony twitched as if to reach out and catch it.
Then he realised what he was doing and jumped back, out of the way of the shining object.
And not a moment too soon.
The star hit the ground, and the world seemed to stand still as the mana in the surroundings went still.
Then it exploded.
The earth erupted, the stones of the pavement turning red-hot as flames rose up, a great whirlwind sweeping the fire out in a wide radius.
The fire raged brightly for a moment, before a burst of blue light created a wave of water and snuffed it out, giving rise to a large column of steam.
“That was one of my more destructive metias,” Roswaal explained, continuing to walk, finally reaching Clind’s side. “An ‘Elemental Orb’, as I call them. A burst of the four basic elements in a powerful attack.”
He looked at the broken circle in the pavement, still steaming with heat waves filling the air around it.
“It’s a pity they can only be used once, but…”
He lifted his hands, showing off the five he still held.
“...I still have one or two left. Now then, Sin Archbishop. Shall we continue?”
Gluttony scowled, and shifted back a few paces, eyes flitting wildly between the five of them.
His frustration was mounting, but now Crusch could see something else in the winds that blew around him. An undercurrent of fear, not of them, but of failing.
Finally, his eyes settled on Roswaal, and he shifted his stance so he was lower to the ground, preparing to pounce once more.
Clind shifted forwards to block any attack the Sin Archbishop launched, and Roswaal drew back his hand to throw another orb.
Gluttony tensed, and then shot out towards them. Roswaal threw his orb, the star-like object flying through the air, aimed for just behind Gluttony to cut off his retreat. But before the Sin Archbishop reached the duo, he disappeared, and Crusch felt a disturbance in the air behind her.
She whirled, but Clind’s invisible attack had already struck, and she caught a brief glimpse of Gluttony’s pained face as he was launched away from them. But a bare instant later, he was gone, and Crusch felt him appear to their side.
“Get down!” she shouted, correcting her stance so she could block an attack or two if it became necessary. Ferris and Lord Edgar immediately fell to the ground, minimising the area Crusch had to guard and freeing the space around her so she could make wide swings with her sword.
In that time, Gluttony appeared around them and was knocked back twice more, his face twisting up with pain, his rage blowing around him like a tornado, a calm, ice-cold fear at the centre.
Clind was stuck in place, seemingly standing still, but from the winds of determination around him, Crusch could tell he was concentrating intently on keeping up his barrage to protect them.
Roswaal, on the other hand, was under no such restrictions, and ran towards them. It took bare seconds for him to reach Crusch’s side, and lash out with his fist.
Gluttony disappeared before the blow could land, but his retreat cost him space, forcing him to remain a greater distance away from them.
His clothes were ripped and fraying, his hair was scattered into a wild mess, and Crusch could see bruising on his exposed skin. He was breathing heavily, having been worn down from the long fight.
But his fear remained, driving him forward. He would not retreat.
He once again launched himself at her, his desperation burning in his eyes, and Crusch interposed her sword between them, but he was no longer there.
She heard Roswaal lash out behind her, then Gluttony reappeared in her field of vision, just above Lord Edgar.
She saw a minor disturbance in the air as Clind’s invisible attack struck out at his midsection…
…and Gluttony lashed out with his open hand.
“Palm of the Fist King!”
His hand met the invisible attack, and the air exploded. A shockwave blew into her, forcing her back a step to keep her balance, and she caught sight of Roswaal stumbling as well. Clind clutched at his chest, as if suddenly injured by the backlash.
Gluttony had been unaffected. He had not been blown back, and was still in the air, right above Lord Edgar.
“No!” Roswaal cried out, throwing something—a dart?—towards Gluttony, but it was too late.
The Sin Archbishop’s hand swung down, his fingers brushing against Edgar’s cloak as the man tried to scramble away.
Then he was gone.
“Edgar Mueller!”
Crusch heard the cry to her right, and she turned, seeing Gluttony standing on top of the wall for the closest noble estate.
Then he licked his hand, and… and…
“That’s enough! We can’t finish the mission, but we got the important part done! Mama won’t be angry now!”
He stumbled, losing his footing for a moment, then he was gone.
Crusch remained tense for a moment, but when Gluttony did not reappear, she slowly began to loosen her grip on her sword.
“Is… is he gone?” Ferris asked, getting back to his feet.
“I think so,” Roswaal said. “He had been worn down quite a bit. If not for ‘butler’ we would not have been able to manage to do so much.”
“It’s odd,” Crusch said. “I didn’t think he was going to retreat until he had managed to eliminate myself and Ferris. He seemed more afraid of failure than of perishing here.”
“I do not believe he did fail. Tragedy.”
Clind’s voice called out, and Crusch turned back to the butler.
He had drawn closer to them, and now stood looking down at… down at…
“Who is that?” she asked, looking down at the old man laying on the ground. Ferris saw him and immediately rushed to his side, conjuring a healing orb.
“I do not know. Nor does anyone present. Mystery,” Clind said. “It is the Authority of Gluttony, a foul interference in the world. Distasteful.”
“‘Authority of…?” Crusch asked. “Gluttony did this?”
Clind sighed. “It is an ability that allows one to eat the Name and Memories of anyone. If the user is to eat the Memories, then the victim will lose all knowledge of themselves. If the Name is eaten, then all others will lose all knowledge of the victim. Lose both, and the victim will fall into stasis, and never wake up. Erasure.”
“Are… are you saying we knew him?” Crusch asked in disbelief, looking at his face again. But not one detail sparked a trace of recognition. As far as she could tell, she had never met him in her life.
“He doesn’t resemble anyone from my family,” Roswaal said, fingers tracing his chin, deep in thought, “Nor does he look like anyone else present, so it is unlikely he was a family member. From his dress, he is likely a noble… though he is quite elderly and does not appear to have a body used to fighting. Perhaps he held wisdom we found valuable?”
“There isn’t anything wrong with him,” Ferris said, slowly letting his healing orb fade. “It’s like he’s just sleeping. A very deep sleep.”
He looked up to Roswaal. “Is… is this a curse? Could we break it?”
Roswaal looked to Clind, who shook his head. “A curse imposes a burden, but this ability robs and takes away. He is missing something that must be returned to heal him, and to return it… difficult.”
“So we need to kill Gluttony to heal him?” Crusch asked.
Clind shook his head. “No, it is easier to destroy and rob than to create and return. Without the cooperation of the user, it may be impossible. And for a Sin Archbishop to cooperate… Impossible.”
“Then… what can we do?” Ferris asked.
Clind hesitated, then glanced at Roswaal.
The Court Mage pursed his lips and nodded. “It may be possible… but not within a lifetime.”
Crusch looked at him in surprise. “Not within a lifetime? He’ll be long dead by then.”
Roswaal shook his head. “He will be in stasis. He will likely outlive many of those alive today, and perhaps many yet to be born. Until the time when a sage comes again, many years from now.”
He shook his head. “But that is a discussion for the future. For now, we must return to the palace. We cannot dally any further. Clind, would you carry our forgotten friend for us?”
Clind nodded, and stooped down to pick the old man up.
Crusch watched him, still searching her memories for some trace of the man, a sense of guilt rising up within her, though she knew it was irrational to feel guilt over being forced to forget something through magical means.
She turned back to the palace and started walking. Roswaal was right. They couldn’t keep Fourier waiting.