“Now I see. You’re a demon Alisson, like the rest of your species.”

Freudlin remarked, holding his sword up at Alisson. The knights that had been standing nearby nearly all lay crumpled across the muddied ground. They’d lasted far longer than the other rookies from prior, but it was like Alisson was a completely different person. Well, that wasn’t far from the truth:

Clarke stared at Alisson’s bright white tendrils slithering from his tails. They hovered in a meter radius of him, and changed in form and number passively. Clarke had seen in the minutes prior the power that Alisson possessed with these white vectors of his.

“Then what would you call Lady Salchyon?”

Alisson asked rhetorically, staring down Freudlin, referencing the fabled ‘Demon’ of the battlefield.

“She’s stupid. She wouldn’t go through an elaborate plan like this…So maybe instead you’re a conniving imp.”

Freudlin retorted, still apparently confident. And why wouldn’t he be? He had four Platinum ranked knights beside him, and a hero summoner pair at his back. Epsilon had remained near Clarke protectively, because nobody thought that one fighter would really make a difference against such stacked odds but – Evidently they had, misjudged, Alisson’s capability.

No. Clarke stared down Alisson. They had judged correctly. It was Alisson who’d changed. The Alisson Clarke had fought in Foksly was far different, Clarke was beginning to realize. The one in Foksly was like a shell, who blankly stared on at his enemies, and executed movements like an automaton…This Alisson smiled gently, seemed to sway carefree in between blades, and didn’t seem to hold that same scorn for his enemies as he did prior.

It was baffling to be sure – He’d announced plainly that the army only a day away was a fabrication, and that him and his apprentice were the only Sidonians around for who knows how many weeks of travel. On paper, with the two other groups of Andestine knights having remounted as soon as they realized the ruse, and were making their way here as Clarke thought these things; it didn’t look like Alisson had much of a chance but…

Clarke glanced across the shining armors that lay splayed across the field. The elite Andestine knights…

Clarke frowned, and tightened the grip on his staff. He knew he was a magician, theoretically useless against Alisson, but nevertheless, prepared to do battle. In the distance, aerial mages raced closer, and knights rode along the sides of the city, closing in. All they had to do was buy time.

…

Alisson stood staring down the Andestine frontal force, Enhérejär in hand and Bacilla swaying at his backside. The white tendrils were sizzling with heat, anymore and he feared that they may really melt off like Eufrozina had hinted at. Alisson had a few cuts here and there, but it was nothing compared to Freigat.

Seeing the handiwork of incapacitated knights before him made Alisson ooze with confidence, despite the circumstance. He tightened his grip, and shot forward. His Bacilla poised forward to strike, as if each one were a scorpion’s tail.

The five knights, the Diamond-ranked commander included, formed into a shield wall in the blink of an eye. An unstoppable force was to pierce an immovable object. The tips of Alisson’s Bacilla charged with red mere moments before impact. Each of his tails’ ‘branch’ of Bacilla poised at either side of the knights, electric red sparking around them. Then, with a deep crack of thunder, Alisson’s Bacilla fired their red beams of pure mana at the knights. Each tip of the Bacilla was small, but combined, they amounted to a thick beam of red that roared with a terrifying deep screech as within an instant, it engulfed two knights in their entirety.

Nobody needed to be told that the two knights, regardless of their years of experience, training, veterancy, and expertly crafted armor, were vaporized where they stood within the blink of an eye. They didn’t even have time to yell out, they simply turned into black visages against the red beams, before crumbling away into the wind, leaving nothing more than charred metal and roasted human flesh crumpling to the ground. The beams overlapped slightly onto the other two Platinums, taking bite sized pieces out of their shields. Evidently, the Andestine armor was not made to deflect beams of sizzling mana.

Alisson’s Bacilla were in a similar state however – visible vapors of heat rose from them, and they radiated a red aura, trying desperately to cool themselves. Alisson didn’t have the time to wallow in the aftereffects of the mana expulsion however, he still had three knights before him. He revved back his rapier, and thrust forward at one of the two knights in the shield wall. Just before impacting however, he leapt over them, twisting over the heads of the knights.

The Andestine commander however, had foreseen Alisson’s move, for he sat behind the two other knights, and now, as Alisson twirled over them, the cerulean-armored commander jumped up, swinging his sword at Alisson. Alisson had no time to react as the sword cut cleanly through one of his Bacilla at its root, just above the tip of one of his tails.

The immediate aftermath was a shocking pain that made Alisson freeze in the air, and he went tumbling across the ground past the knights, unable to act on his maneuver to attack from their rear.

He cringed in pain for a few seconds, laying across the ground. No blood was shed, and with the Bacilla already having pushed themselves to their limit, no advantage was lost, but the pain was acute to someone slicing at one’s spine with a scalpel.

The Diamond-ranked knight was on Alisson in an instant, already dashing toward him, preparing a killing blow. Alisson forced his body to rise and to meet the aggressor’s charge.

He parried a strike from the Diamond knight, bobbing around him and fruitlessly slashing at the knight’s back armor, Enhérejär harmlessly bouncing off. Alisson turned away from the commander, his sights set on the two other knights, intent on finishing them off before he engaged with the clearly more dangerous Diamond knight.

Alisson was in the remaining two knights’ faces, and the few moments that followed were an intense back and forth between the two parties; Alisson weaving around the knights while they tried to swat at him, whilst blocking his strikes with their shields in turn. The Diamond ranked commander came barreling in to save his subordinates, and Alisson was forced away, breathing heavily as he stared down the knights.

No words were exchanged, Alisson just stared at those two Platinums. Evidently they were the last ones alive because they were the most skilled of the 153rd. They weren’t like the rookies that Alisson had cut down earlier – And to top it off, he didn’t have the power of his Bacilla anymore – Firing another blast may do more harm to him than good with the state of his remaining Bacilla. However…He still had his magic. Thinking along these lines, Alisson hefted his blade at the knights, and immediately fired off a yellow spike, followed by few more. The first slammed into a knight’s shield with no real effect, and the second was blocked by a sudden green film that appeared before the knights. Alisson gasped, remembering that there was still a magician above, that summoner, who could defend the knights.

The subsequent spells crashed against the protective film harmlessly, while behind it, apparently provoked by Alisson’s magic, the knights started to prepare their own magic. Alisson clicked his tongue and shot forward, not keen on playing a pissing contest with humans and their larger mana capacities. Before he could reach the knights, they fired, one cyan spike slammed into his left pauldron. Alisson recoiled in pain, sure that the spell had just dislocated his shoulder, but when he shot an eye over to look – he saw that the spell had actually mutilated his pauldron, sending steel fragments through the air.

Evidently the armor wasn’t exactly fresh of the smith’s table. His armor was quite literally falling to pieces as he fought – his own repairs proving futile. Alisson cursed to himself but ignored the setback, pressing forward, dodging side to side, avoiding two other attack spells conjured up by the knights’ slow casting time. Finally, he reached the protective film, where the commander stepped through the one-way barrier to attack him, while the other two continued to prepare magic. Alisson brought Enhérejär to bear, its tip meeting the protective film, and, with a flick of his wrist, the film followed Enhérejär’s tip – Alisson swung it around, and placed it directly in the path of the Diamond rank, while simultaneously exposing the two casting knights.

The knights recoiled in shock, clearly not thinking Enhérejär was capable of redirecting passive spells. Alisson managed to impale one of the knights through the slits of their helmet with the element of surprise.

Thankfully, Enhérejär, with its shifting ability, was able to pass through all manner of holes in armor; if its normal, thin, rapier tip, was for some reason unable to. Alisson continued forward, instead of withdrawing Enhérejär, he pressed it further into the knights skull, ensuring his death, but that the same time locking Alisson’s blade into the helmet of the knight.

Enhérejär however, was not a blade to be locked into a solid form. The blade split at slits of the dead knight’s helmet, and broke off – Alisson was left with a shorter blade, but didn’t have to waste the time wrenching it out. He slipped behind the corpse of the knight, and leapt at the other Platinum, who by this point had readied himself, and blocked Alisson’s haphazard strike. Surprising Alisson, the knight stepped forward after blocking the slash, and bashed at Alisson with his shield. It was fast, and Alisson wasn’t able to evade before he was sent stumbling back, to be then cut at by a follow-up swing by the Platinum knight. The action was done with such speed and force that there was no chance Alisson could react, and so a blade cut through his left shoulder in slow motion before his eyes.

Thanks to Alisson’s gambeson and chainmail, the slash was reduced in effectiveness, but it still cut at his flesh, and Alisson’s blood now decorated the Platinum knight’s sword, glistening in the light of day. Alisson however did not buckle, and decided to return the favor to the knight, stepping toward him, and slamming the shortened Enhérejär in the gut of the knight, right under his chest plate. They were corps a corps(1), but evidently one of them was in a far worse state with a sword having been shoved through their midsection. After a moment, the Platinum coughed out a spurt of blood through the dark slits in his helmet. He wasn’t dead, but he would most certainly perish in the coming moments due to blood loss. Alisson retreated from the Platinum, letting his limp body fall to the ground as the Diamond ranked commander slashed at Alisson, narrowly missing.

Alisson backpeddled, keeping the last fighter in his sights. The commander advanced slowly, poised, when suddenly, a blur of silver leapt up from one of the corpses of his comrades – the piece of Enhérejär that had been left in the first knight’s helmet. The Diamond rank swatted away the flimsy piece of floating metal, but not before Alisson had surged forward, and thrust, taking the opening to pierce cleanly the Diamond rank’s abdomen. It clearly wasn’t enough to bring the man down, as the Diamond then slashed at Alisson. Alisson stepped back, but wasn’t able to stop the blade from slamming into his right arm’s gauntlet. The armor took the brunt of the Diamond’s blade, but it didn’t stop Alisson’s hand from being shattered, and torn into by the fractured metal.

Alisson grinded his teeth together, but was confident that he could now beat the Diamond rank with the rest of his forces out of the picture. He let go of Enhérejär with his right arm, and grabbed hold of it with his left, trying to gain some distance to recenter himself. But the Andestinian wouldn’t let him, the knight kept on throwing powerful, quick swings at Alisson with his two-handed sword, to which Alisson either barely dodged out of the way of or deflected.

Eventually, it became apparent that Alisson was at the disadvantage when it came to a head-to-head clash of blades – The commander held his ground, and didn’t fall for anything. A thirty second dance of blades left Alisson with no ground gained, no wounds inflicted, and most of all, just left himself get worn out compared to the seemingly endless amount of vigor the man before him seemed to possess, even with that gaping hole in his gut. Alisson clicked his tongue, and resolved to use the last trick up his sleeve to break through the seemingly impenetrable wall before him. The last of his mana was transferred to his blade, and along with a Pictunee incantation, Enhérejär began to glow with an aura of red. Alisson parried a flurry of strikes from the knight before finally the few seconds of preparation were complete, and he hefted the tip of Enhérejär at the knight’s head.

Clearly seeing Alisson’s intention to launch a spell from his blade, the Diamond acted quickly, and before Alisson could fire, the commander beat Alisson’s blade, so that when the beam of red leapt from Enhérejär’s tip, it did so not at the Diamond’s head, but at his collar. The spell’s effects were still devastating nonetheless – at such a close range, the spell was unevadable, and it burned through his cerulean armor, vaporizing the metal and turning it into but a molten hot liquid. The man still wasn’t dead, but the shock of the spell, of essentially losing one of his shoulders, and now being burned by the molten metal running across him, he was, understandably, not on guard for a moment. Alisson leapt forward, deftly swung around behind the knight’s back, and slammed the still sizzling Enhérejär into the side of the Diamond rank’s helmet.

He was dead instantly, without doubt. If anything, Alisson cut short what would’ve been a very painful, and slow death. Alisson didn’t regret that – he could call the Andestine knight a pig all he wanted – but there was no denying that he had been a challenging opponent for Alisson, and one-on-one, that normally was not the case with a run of the mill soldier. Alisson now had no mana left. No barrier spells to shield himself, and no spells to deal with the floating mage above him.

Alisson’s armor was in tatters, and he was actively bleeding as he stood, facing down the mage and his hero. The hero was from Foksly, the one who used a spear and shield, and now she sat defensively, spear poised at Alisson.

Alisson wondered briefly why the pair had sat idly by while their comrades were killed one by one, but Alisson pushed it out of his head.

Alisson broke into a dash toward the hero, if his experience the last time they fought was anything to go off of, the hero was weak, and so was the summoner. Perhaps moving faster than the hero anticipated, Alisson easily managed to get under her shield and strike at her chest, piercing cleanly through her light armor. She crumpled to the ground pathetically easily.

Not giving Alisson a moment to think, the mage from above fired off a pair of spells from directly above. Alisson was in no position to redirect them, so he leapt back, evading the spells and preparing to deal with the insolent mage who apparently hadn’t gotten the memo of Enhérejär’s redirection.

Again, the mage launched off a pair of spells, two large, bright balls that soared toward Alisson. Alisson stepped forward, ready to catch the spells and fire them back at the mage, when a surprise befell Alisson vision. The two spells suddenly changed direction, now each of them came from either side of Alisson; they were far enough apart to where he’d be blown away by the other if he were to try to catch one of them.

The shock perhaps froze his mind for a moment, because the spells came in fast, and Alisson wasn’t able to evade them, and he was engulfed in the cloud of two explosions.

Coughing, with grime on his face, the smoke cleared, and Alisson saw the summoner floating a ways away from him, a smirk on his face.

“What’s that you said only a few minutes ago?” The old man pondered, “That you’d show us why you were called the Fairy? Why, it’s only fair I return the favor, yes? ‘You now have the pleasure of fighting a real magician’, how’s that?”

The old man said matterfactly, mocking Alisson, before launching off a barrage of spells at Alisson. Most all these came at skewed directions, randomly changing their trajectories three or four times in their path to Alisson. Amidst them all, a few spells plunged into the mud, garnering no notice from Alisson. The small, but deadly, spells homed in on him, and he was forced to dodge side to side, trying to evade as best he could, but unavoidably suffering a small would here and there.

The spells were laughable by a normal mage’s standards, weak, lacking of explosive power, and by all accounts ineffective in a battlefield; However these came with them a purpose, a stratagem.

Just as Alisson was about to exhale in relief, the last of the mage’s spells being dodged, a newfound wave of multicolored bolts suddenly leapt from the mud. Alisson was taken by complete surprise – the spells came in too fast, and at too low of an angle to do anything about them – he was skewered by half a dozen of them.

Pain welled on all sides of Alisson’s body. His armor was all but gone, having saved his life, but paying the price. Alisson could see the shattered steel across the ground as blood poured from his wounds. His Opensen was greatly increasing the amount of punishment he could take, but in two mere attacks, he’d already been pushed to the breaking point. He needed to end this, before that magician attacked once more. He shouldn’t have anymore spells cocked up – And he shouldn’t have all that much mana left either. He must’ve spent the whole battle with the Platinum knights creating those fancy, erratically moving spells.

Yes, that was certainly it. All Alisson needed to do was finish this now. Before him, the mage was quite low to the ground, he must’ve been running out of mana to power his flight spell – a perfect opportunity.

Alisson charged forward through his pain, his tails and remaining Bacilla covering his more lethal wounds. Alisson was so focused on finishing the fight as quickly as possible, that he didn’t notice the still smirking magician, and neither did he notice a corpse suddenly leap to their feet by his side.

With old man just a thrust away from being killed, Alisson was instead impaled, and was stopped in his tracks. He looked down to see a spear gouged into his side, belonging to the steeled face of the hero he thought he’d killed not moments before, mercilessly now digging her weapon into him. The world seemed to slow, and Alisson stumbled back as the hero pulled her spear out of him. Alisson tried to raise Enhérejär to strike, but he realized that his body was not stumbling back to counterattack, he was stumbling because he was collapsing to the ground. His eyes were suddenly hazy, and heavy, and his mind drowsy. He tried to whip up as much energy as he could, but by the time he broke out of his trance of lethargy, the female hero was already straddling him, pinning him down, leaving no chance for the wounded Alisson to even move. The strength of the a hero was unmatched.

With no mana…Alisson only had one way to escape. His Bacilla writhed lazily into the air, struggling to even move. They tried to move toward the hero, but it was no use. They went limp in tire a moment thereafter.

“A fine job as always Epsilon.” The mage retorted as he landed on the muddied ground, dusting himself off. “We were supposed to kill Alisson, but it seems we have golden opportunity to do what our predecessors failed to.” The mage continued.

As the old man spoke, a cavalcade of knights rode in from the far side of the wall. Time was up. The rest of the Andestinians were now converging on Alisson’s position.

The strategy to divide and conquer had failed.

“Commander Freudlin was killed in action, along with all of his lieutenants. I will be assuming command now.” The mage reported. “Someone get some healing spells on him – We don’t want him dying on us.”

An arriving battlemage landed and knelt near Alisson, begrudgingly healing him. Alisson struggled as much as he could, trying to shake his head back and forth, but the battlemage grabbed hold of Alisson’s soft face with his heavy gauntlets, holding him firmly still as he forcefully healed Alisson’s wounds.

“Now then…We’ll have plenty of time to question you in the homeland…” The old man mage extended his staff at Alisson’s temple. “Friede sei mit dir.”

Alisson felt even more drowsy, and he realized with a churning gut that the mage had casted a peace spell on him – he would be knocked out within just a few moments. Alisson’s vision darkened, the last sight he could see were the dozens of mounted knights surrounding him, looking on with scorn.

Despite this, Alisson for a moment smiled to himself.

“Celis…”

He knew for a fact that he would be saved. He wasn’t strong enough to win by himself. And that was okay.

…

“What a fool, thinking he could challenge an entire battalion’s worth of knights on his own.” Clarke retorted. “Just because he may have gained a more powerful manifestation doesn’t make him invincible.”

Surely the venerable Alisson Vi Nuam, touted as being one of the harshest pragmatists Sidonia had to offer, didn’t really think that he had gained such an advantage, from such a small concession?

“He did destroy Garnin Company singlehandedly, as well as defeating the commander.” Epsilon responded, standing up off the now unconscious Nekomata.

“Yes…That was…unforeseen.” Clarke conceded. “But their deaths were not in vain – by the time Alisson fought us, he was tired, and wounded, to a point where he fell for our tricks. Never mind that now however.” Clarke waved his staff. “Everyone, assume a defensive position. We still have his apprentice to look out for.”

The knights momentarily stared on at Clarke in confusion, before one called out, “Isn’t the battle over? We need to prepare against the oncoming army, not a child.”

Clarke frowned. “Alisson revealed to us while he was fighting that there is no army. It was a bluff. And so were the summoned knights as you now all know. His only card left is his apprentice. If she wasn’t notifying the phantom army of us, then she must still be lurking around here somewhere.”

Clarke realized that if the army was fake, then what was the cause of supply convoy’s lateness? They must’ve just been further behind schedule than previously thought, Clarke concluded.

“Where is Lelo Company?” Clarke asked, noticing that only one of the other two companies hadn’t arrived.

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“Still enroute it seems.”

Clarke furrowed his bushy brow. The two companies were the same distance away from the first striking force – there shouldn’t have been much of a lapse between their arrivals, unless Lelo Company for whatever reason, after seeing that the Sidonian knights were but facades, entered the city to martial it. That wasn’t right; the subcommanders were given orders to immediately retreat if something unforeseen like this happened. Clarke didn’t like it.

The only card left that Clarke knew of, was that apprentice. The two discrepancies in the battle were the convoy’s lateness, and now Lelo Company’s lateness. Logically, the one enemy character remaining should be responsible for both. But Clarke knew that wasn’t right – Saying an apprentice could take out an entire convoy and a company of Platinums on their own was…

Clarke trailed off. It was ludicrous. What else was ludicrous? The pretense to most all of Sidonia’s ambushes, and deceiving plans. Everything sounds stupid, until it turns out to be real. Better to made a fool of than be taken by surprise.

“Everyone! Prepare for immediate battle! The Sidonian apprentice must be up to something! They were most likely the one that is responsible for Lelo company’s disappearance, and the disappearance of the supply convoy! So be on your guard, for they are undoubtably a capable fighter.”

A few of the knights chuckled, but regardless they formed up into a circular shield wall, the battlemages hovering above, scanning the area, their swords drawn and barrier spells ready to be deployed.

“What are you thinking, Elder Kalinfrye?” His summon asked, perplexed.

“I’m borrowing a page out of the head councilman’s play book.”

With those words, the field went silent. The nearby city was also deathly silent, but that was to be expected of Scratskoslovotskaya – everybody was probably hiding as if their lives depended on it. Seconds turned to minutes, and knight’s postures slackened as they shot dubious glances at Clarke.

“…What are we waiting for?”

Epsilon asked. Clarke’s eye twitched.

“You see now – The apprentice is checking my move. They won’t attack now that we’re prepared – they want us to relax and split up.”

Clarkes thinking aloud seemed to only bring more knights to glance at him curiously.

Just where do we go from here now?

Clarke thought to himself. The enemy was waiting on their move – that is, if he wasn’t interpreting the situation wrongly. The apprentice was probably hiding somewhere very nearby. With the time that had passed, a full ten minutes, with not a word from Lelo company, not even a simple message of acknowledgement, Clarke became more and more confident in his assumption – Lelo company was most likely gone. How exactly they were beaten without even getting the chance to call for help however, was beyond Clarke.

What to do from here was actually quite simple, Clarke realized. They had captured Alisson. Their reason for being here was accomplished.

“All units! We will move back to the camp while holding formation! Then, we break camp, and we hightail it out of here. A fat Irinian ship is waiting for us, remember.”

The knights grumbled, but complied nevertheless. Marching whilst crouched down with your shield wasn’t ideal, but it was better than taking the chance to mount up onto the horses, and being attacked in the process.

“But what about the other company? We’re just leaving them behind?”

A knight asked. Clarke stated plainly: “If not a single one of them are acknowledging our message spells, I think it is quite clear what their state is. They’re dead.”

Despite Clarke’s words, he had a battlemage shoot up a flare that signified to all Andestine forces that the battle was completed, and to return to base. Just in case he was wrong about all of this, and Lelo company was still out there. He wasn’t going to waste time trying to hunt them down to find what most likely would only be a silent area of still soldiers.

The heavily armed cohort of knights moved across the muddy plain of the crater. It was quiet, the only sound in the air were the sloshing of boots and hooves against the viscous mud. As they went, gradually up the incline of the crater, Clarke noticed more and more lumps in the terrain. He recognized these, though with some effort, as human corpses. These weren’t an uncommon sight outside the perimeter of the city…but there was just so many of them. It was only when Clarke saw the hint of red in the ground, that the thought occurred to him that these may have been fresh bodies.

It suddenly hit him: Where were the peasants that had been drafted into Alisson’s fight gone to?

On that realization, two pouches were thrown into the middle of the formation, not from outside of it, but rather, high into the sky, from within. Before Clarke could identify their source, the two pouches detonated in an aggressive rush of smoke. He heard the sudden screams of men, and through the smoke, flashes of yellow as battle erupted all around him.

On pure muscle memory, he initiated his flight spell, and along with the other battlemages, rose into the air for their own safety.

He couldn’t even tell what was happening when a knife gouged itself into the caster not a meter in front of him, before detonating in a plume of black smoke, singing Clarke in the process. The caster’s blackened body dropped limply to the ground, missing a large chunk of their body. Similar explosions rang out around him, three more to the count, along with another assortment of yellow flashes through the smoke. The horse dragging Alisson through the mud was right below Clarke – He could see it despite the smoke – And Clarke kept his watchful gaze on them, spells prepared. But nobody took the bait.

The sounds of fighting met an abrupt end as the smoke started to clear, some of the mages having cast wind spells dissipate the smoke in some form or another. It was over in about ten seconds. Yet despite the small time frame, when Clarke now looked upon the Andestine cohort, as the smoke thinned, he was frozen in stupidity – Almost a third of the knights were now missing. Several casters were dead - only a handful remained. Most of the horses had been ominously slaughtered, they could no longer mount their entire force if they wanted to.

It was all of the sudden very quiet. The knights left standing were glancing around wildly, some with blood painting their shining armor and others standing untouched, completely aloof of what had just happened. Those who lay unmoving across the ground were subject to a variety of wounds. Some were very clearly impaled, red covering their helms and collars, their vitals. Others had been blasted to bits by spells, and now looked more akin to sewer grate than an armored knight. Others still were now but charred black rumps in the terrain, sizzling in the aftereffect of intense heat.

Clarke couldn’t believe his eyes. Just what the hell had happened? Then, it came to him; he noticed how easily the bodies of his freshly fallen comrades now blended in with the mud, as they sunk down into it. You didn’t have to be a corpse to blend in. The formation had walked right over an enemy unit. That had to be it.

So, the question now remained; where was the enemy?

Clarke glanced across the mud below him with crazed eyes. Could they have buried themselves in the commotion? Or could they have really sprinted so fast as to disappear over the lip of the crater in such a short time span?

More importantly, what course of action to take? Continue onward? Without their horses? Rations would be an issue, and moving along such a large distance without horses, they’d be sitting ducks for any Sidonian.

Return to the city? Scratskoslovotskaya had little, if no, horses. In that dense urban environment…The 153rd could be picked off like children in a forest – It’d be worse than being out in the open.

Then what? What was Clarke supposed to do? He racked his brains, sweat mounting on his forehead. The knights glanced at him, seeking orders. Epsilon stood on guard below him, a foot from the unconscious Alisson, silent.

Only this morning had the 153rd been chasing down an enemy which was supposed to be surrounded and cut off from reinforcements. Now it seemed the roles had reversed. The 153rd were now the ones that had their convoys intercepted, their commanders killed, and now they were out-positioned. A head-on-battle. That’s all they needed. They’d win, no doubt. But the enemy, whoever they comprised of, that apprentice and perhaps more unforeseen forces, they knew that just as well. They were going to stop at nothing to use hit and run tactics until the 153rd was but a handful of soldiers. That much was evident.

Forward? Go back the way they came? Maybe dig in and then – No, that wouldn’t work…

Clarke hovered in the air, frozen in indecision for a long few moments. If only Freudlin were here. But he wasn’t. The valiant commander was dead on a field a few miles behind them. His body to be left to the vultures, and his armor to be ransacked by the tramps of Scratskoslovotskaya.

Future convoys. The 153rd still had a constant supply line. They may have lost one group, but more would be sent, rather, already have been, and are but weeks away. If they can just hold tight then…Perhaps they could raze a section of the city, make a camp there, and off leech of the city’s supplies and then…No…All of it was foolish, just what was to be done!?

Eventually, Clarke made up his mind.

“Forward! We continue! We won’t stop until we reach the coast!”

He didn’t care if the men started to starve. Marching day and night was better than waiting to die. He had their objective. All they needed to do was return. The sooner the better. To that end…Clarke glanced at the remaining seven horses. He could fly with the battle mages, and ride with a few knights, Alisson in tow, to expediate their travel…but then what? Leave the remaining knights to die? Run out of mana, and just hope and pray that the rest of the horsemen would finish the mission? It was a salivating idea. To just get the hell away from this place as fast as possible.

But the gut wrenching thought of the enemy eventually catching up with them…in the dark of night, unsuspecting. Clarke shivered. If only his enemy was before him brazenly, like Alisson, the fool.

But here he was fighting ghosts. Damn it all!

The formation moved forward, lacking a great deal of its former manpower. The men looked around anxiously. A single knight was force to be reckoned with…but these circumstances just turned them into walking targets, waiting to be picked off in an ambush, unable to do anything. What if Clarke was the first to fall? To not even know he was being attacked before it was already over?

As he thought as much, only a minute after they started moving again, did a flash of yellow crop up over the lip of the crater, about a hundred meters before them. One flash turned to dozens, that then turned to hundreds. The battlemages sprung into action, deploying shields, and the circular formation of knights expertly collapsed into a frontal facing line, ready to meet the enemy. The onslaught of spells last far longer than anyone thought. For a long moment, the mages simply sat, their arms extended, as weak spells crashed against their barriers. However, the rain did not end. How much mana did they have!? No, rather, how many casters were there! If they were so little in number to be obstructed by the very spells they fired, then not many. The shields started to crack. Clarke’s eyes widened, and cursing, brought his staff to bear. He fired off a few wispy spells which took roundabout paths before slamming into and exploding into the firing position of the enemy mages. And with that, Clarke was drained of mana, but at the very least, the enemy had stopped firing. The formation continued on, battlemages prepared with shielding spells, and the knights with their shields raised, expecting to see another entire enemy unit as soon as they rounded the lip of the crater.

Rather, once they reached the top, they saw nothing. No enemies. There were however…footprints in the mud. Rushed ones at that, only a pair of them. The footprints led toward the Andestine camp. Rather, what had been the Andestine camp. The tents were flattened, and the fortifications turned to brittle wood. Before the camp, lay almost a hundred bodies of recently slain peasants; What had recently been Alisson’s conscripted army.

Clarke swallowed a knot in his throat, but resolved to push forward, around the camp. Those fallen tents…Clarke’s eyes sharpened. It was just like the previous ambush.

“Mages! Blow our camp to pieces!”

They followed the order without question, and a rain of explosives were lobbed at the camp. As Clarke expected, the oncoming spells made one of the tents scramble, as a figure dove out from under one, out into the open. He was expecting more, but that was it; Just that familiar visage of Alisson’s apprentice.

Clarke smirked malignantly. He’d caught her in the open. The spells impacted all around her, but by dashing toward the 153rd, she’d managed to stay clear of the barrage.

“Fire!” Clarke swung his staff forward.

In response, the battlemages threw everything they had at the apprentice. In turn, the apprentice, whom Clarke only now noticed as having her Opensen unlocked, fired back. A few flashes of yellow at first, but Clarke started to doubt his eyes when once again, the stream of spells didn’t end. Just how much mana did this ‘apprentice’ have!?

There was a black cylindrical object attached to the rear of the girl, in place of her backpack.

The 153rd’s spells detonated around the apprentice, throwing mud into the air, before the precision spells shot forth at the apprentice. Their needle thin speed managed to finally draw some blood out of the girl, but regardless she didn’t stop – She intended to meet the 153rd head on!

Clarke didn’t know whether to be pleased at her stupidity, or scared of not knowing something she did. Her spells came crashing against the battlemage’s deployed shields. The firepower she laid down whilst advancing on the Andestinians was some how comparable to all the battlemages, and it severely hampered their ability to fire back for fear of not maintaining the barrier spells. She must’ve been faster with her Opensen, that must’ve been it, how she seemed to glide across the mud, faster than any human should be able to move.

She threw once more a trio of familiar pouches at the 153rd. Seeing the trick before, one of the battlemages pushed away the pouches midflight with a wind spell, making them detonate harmlessly above the apprentice and not the 153rd. In doing so however, they inadvertently concealed the apprentice. Clarke was half expecting to see the girl come running out of the smoke regardless, but that never happened. Instead, the onslaught of spells she’d been putting down at the 153rd halted, and once more the battlefield fell silent as the smokescreen quietly drifted away. The 153rd advanced cautiously, the battlemages pushing away the smoke with spells, wary for anything.

When the smoke cleared however, there was no Nekomata to be seen.

“Again! Blow the mud away!”

Clarke ordered, keenly of aware of the apprentices ploy to once again bury herself in plain sight. As soon as Clarke said those words though, a sudden wave of yellow bolts crashed against the battlemages, forcing them back to deploy their shields to protect themselves. Clarke could only see the apprentice for a moment before she turned into but a blur –

Leaping up, covered in mud, and with a scowl on her face, her gauntlets sizzled with heat. Evidently, the trick to conceal herself had been to only buy time to condense her spells into a wave and not a stream. Clarke was seriously starting to wonder how this Nekomata seemed to have a limitless supply of mana. Already were the battlemages essentially dry.

Then, she attacked the front shield wall of the Andestine knights. Without battlemage support, rather, because the apprentice was so close to the knights, any incursion risked doing more harm than good. The knights surged out of formation, to overwhelm the single fighter. The first attack was a swing and miss by the Andestinian – The first of many.

The apprentice was so aggressive, not nearly as elegant as Alisson had – She rushed down opponents, and the knights, despite trying to protect their necks as they had learned from fighting Alisson, were not better off for it. Men’s arms were impaled, the tendons in their ankles and knee’s cut. Blades were sometimes left within the knights, to turn effulgent and detonate moments thereafter. A man was impaled in the back, to then explode as yellow spikes turned him inside out – Still the demon had mana to spare!

Only a couple knights died in those first few seconds, but an overwhelming amount were injured. Including the apprentice. There was now more blood on her than mud. Clarke couldn’t tell if the majority of this belonged to her or the knights – but the 153rd had certainly not let her off easy. She seemed far more…willing…to take injury in order to dish out damage, like some sort of berserking spirit of rage, that would eventually destroy itself.

The battlemages, mostly dry on mana, charged into the fray, drawing their swords. With them coming in from above, the apprentice would be boxed in. Clarke hoisted his staff, with its sharp end, and flew into the fray, accompanied by Epsilon down below. It was now or never! If they couldn’t kill her now, then nothing would!

It seemed so sure for that single moment, with knights on all sides of her, with mages rushing from above, there was no escape.

Then, what reached Clarke’s ears shattered his sureness of self.

“I surrender!”

The girl’s voice rang out, and it silenced the area. She rose her hands into the sky, her weapons dropping out of her hands. The blue furred ears atop her head, as well as her tails, suddenly faded away from physical form. Her face was suddenly one of terror, and tears welled at her eyes. “P-please don’t hurt me!”

The 153rd stopped dead in the tracks, met with the sight of a defenseless girl. Other than couple knights, who didn’t share the same morale for the devil who’d just slaughtered their comrades. They continued on, and pushed the girl to the ground, and not using their swords, still exerted violence upon her slight body, beating down with their heavy fists.

Clarke was shaken from his stupor, and quickly blurted out: “S-stop it! Restrain yourselves!”

The surrounding knights who were not overcome with rage pulled the ones who were off the girl, to reveal a broken, beaten Nekomata, crying. To think that it was this demon that had only minutes before slaughtered a third of the 153rd, Clarke couldn’t link the two trains of thought in his head. Perhaps this was a ploy – and there were still Sidonian forces more than this girl…

“Restrain her!” Clarke ordered.

So thus, they dragged the girl, disarmed of her weapons, before Clarke. He ordered the 153rd to form up another circle around them, to be wary of any other forces. Epsilon held down the girl, and brought her head by the hair so that her tear plastered face could gaze at Clarke.

“Are you alone?” Clarke asked simply, gripping his staff, watching intently for any sign of offensive spell formation.

“Y-yes!”

The girl said, some of her teeth broken from the knights.

“I don’t believe it.” Clarke responded, and eyebrow raised. “Please tell the truth, yes? Or else my summon will not be so lenient with you.”

This time, the girl kept her mouth shut, cringing her eyes. The sight was so pitiful. Clarke sighed. “Tie her up. We’ll bring them both back to the head councilman.” Clarke said, eyeing the girl.

A knight approached with some rope. He stumbled suddenly, looking down into the mud frantically.

“What is it soldier?” Clarke asked.

“S-some sort of white snake or something in the mud…”

“Just a beast, don’t worry about it.” And Clarke ushered the knight on. The knight reluctantly went on, glancing back at the place he stumbled in confusion.

As the knight tied the apprentice up, Epsilon pried the black cylinder off her back. Clarke motioned for it, and Epsilon placed it in his hands. He stumbled back, an intense amount of mana filling his very veins. It almost made him black out.

Before he could question it, he saw the apprentice smile a small smile. She opened her mouth to speak, and Clarke noticed that all of her teeth were somehow in her mouth, perfectly shining white.

“Your hero has a really great rack.”

Clarke was only dumbfounded by the girl’s words for a moment.

…

They had been fools to keep Enhérejär in Alisson’s grip. But to be fair, who in the right mind would assume that a weapon would be able to act on its own? Especially with such a high influx of mana in the area thanks to that object…

Alisson’s eyes fluttered open. He didn’t feel the grogginess of a natural awakening, and sure enough, he immediately remembered what had happened before he’d been knocked out. Alisson was face down in the mud, tied up. He peeked down at his body, to see a soft white glow.

Apprentice, heal, save.

Enhérejär spoke to him briefly. His eyes unblurred and he saw on past his body, and spotted the Andestine unit, in a circular formation. In the center of the knights was his apprentice, tied up, and looking up at the old summoner man with a sly smirk. Alisson didn’t know exactly why the enemy had moved away from him, or why precisely Celis seemed to be apprehended, but he understood fairly quickly what the situation was. His apprentice had just imbued a healing spell into Enhérejär, which then was used on Alisson, awakening him from the peace spell.

Enhérejär must’ve snuck through the thick mud. The Andestinians were none the wiser. Celis, despite the blood that covered her body, was probably healing herself as Alisson assessed the situation. Her hands were cupped over her body, and could easily conceal any spell she was casting within her palms. The white glow faded, and Enhérejär silently sliced through the rope holding Alisson, before filling his hand once more with its familiar weight.

Alisson’s eyes sharpened as he mentally prepared himself to spring into action. He took a silent deep breath, and then rose in a blur as he activated his manifestation. He was already leaping over the Andestine formation before they realized what was happening. The enemy had done a fine job of healing him.

The first actions Alisson took were to liberate his apprentice. With her by his side, they should be able to mop up the last of the knights. From a brief glance, it seemed that Celis had taken out more than a full company of knights on her own. They should easily be able to finish the job together.

He sliced off the head of the knight tying Celis down, and then redoubled, swiping at the hero’s head. She had only the time to glance in Alisson’s direction before her head was neck was severed. Time moved quickly for those not living in it.

Enhérejär leapt off of Alisson, and began to cut through the restraints holding Celis. The black cannister was on the ground before the summoner man. Thinking quickly, Alisson leapt toward it, flipping forwards and grasping the cannister with his hands before falling into a kick upon the old man, sending him stumbling back. By the time Alisson rose, his hands shimmered with a newly regenerated mana. He pointed them at the magician. The summoner just barely managed to throw up a shield in time to save himself from Alisson’s couple haphazard spells.

By that time, Celis was freed and on her feet, two blades drawn. The two of them placed their backs against each other, staring down the Andestinians. The formation turned inward, and with battlemages, the summoner included, taking to the sky, a brawl was mere seconds from breaking out.

Alisson clenched Enhérejär. “Let’s finish this quickly.”

“Agreed.” Celis activated her Opensen.

All at once, the knights charged at them. Alisson tapped Celis’s shoulder, and then dashed toward the thinnest part of the Andestine line, Celis following close behind him. He thrust at the nearest knight, Enhérejär impacting dead center on a shield, but that didn’t matter; Celis leapt over him, slipping behind the knight, and impaling a blade into their neck.

Another knight swung at them. He was forced to raise his shield when Alisson launched off a Pictun spell along the length of Enhérejär. Alisson stepped forward, slashed at man’s knees, while Celis rounded him, impaling his dominant wrist. The man was about to beat Celis away with his shield when Enhérejär flew through the slits in his helmet.

The two of them ran forward to meet the next knight in the circle. This time, Celis launched off a crescendo of spells, before Alisson stabbed the man’s ankle, then blocked his counterattack, when Celis impaled the knight’s neck.

It was like having another vector of his being. Like an extra set of arms. The knights approached, and each one was overwhelmed; to be cut down by a rapid tempo of attacks, from all angles, each in turn with the other, like a swinging pendulum. After about five seconds, in which five knights were left dead, the remaining knights suddenly withdrew, and tried to form together, not expecting him and Celis to kill the fighters before they could mass in close proximity to the both of them.

Seeing this, him and Celis both launched off a large barrage of yellow spikes, filling a couple of the knights with holes and forcing the rest to raise their shields. With Alisson so close to Celis, the entire enemy force couldn’t use an ounce of magic. Their battlemages now charged from above, swords drawn. Alisson pointed Enhérejär at them, the blade glowing red, as Celis charged in front of him into the knights. Within three seconds, Alisson launched three Pictunee spells at the remaining battlemages. Each time Enhérejär kicked back into his arm, and each time, blood flew through the air, and a flight spell was unceremoniously halted.

One battlemage was able to deploy a shield in time, and surged in close to Alisson. To this Alisson flicked his wrist with Enhérejär, and moved the shield away from the battlemages as he sidestepped him. A quick thrust to the back of the last battlemage ensured his death.

Alisson, now drained of mana, quickly followed in the wake of Celis. She had already dealt with a few knights on her own, but now two of them swung simultaneously at her. Alisson dove in behind her, and blocked one of the swings, letting Celis parry the other and kill the man who’d sent it. Alisson and the knight he was locked with both disengaged at once, and were locked in a dance of a blades for a moment before Celis slid into the brawl, cutting at the back of the man’s knees, sending him down. A thrust of Enhérejär into the knight’s collar made his limbs go still.

The field was clear within the matter of a minute.

A few wounds here and there were inevitable when facing such skilled knights but…Celis and Alisson were practically unscathed. It was a royal flush. They may have cut it close, but they won the gamble in the end.

The summoner man in the meantime had fled. It appeared that he had tried to steal the black canister, but found it to be too heavy, and dropped it, fancying his life over his country. Having touched the canister, he was fully endowed with mana, and now flew off, now but a speck in the distance. They had the Andestinian horses, they could go after him if they wanted to, but at present, Alisson wasn’t thinking about that. After the last knight fell, and when Alisson and Celis finally exhaled as their adrenaline wore off, Alisson stepped toward Celis.

He tilted his head with a wry smile. “I…I knew you would…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence as tears suddenly welled in his eyes from joy. Celis looked at him, angrily. A slap came up a moment thereafter. Even through it paled in comparison to his still-open wounds, it for some reason elicited a stronger reaction from Alisson, as he stumbled back, holding his reddened cheek.

“Wh-wh-”

He meekly mumbled, when Celis interrupted him, “Never do that again! Ever!” She scowled at him. “I thought you were going to die! What if I didn’t stop you from being captured!? You…you can’t just do this to me…”

Celis’s anger quickly faded as tears welled in her eyes.

Alisson swallowed warily. “I-I’m sorry…I, I just knew that you would come to save me…So…so…”

She flashed another glance of contempt at him. “Must’ve been easy for you, huh? Either you get to go off to the afterlife or your lover comes to your aid! Never again!” Celis shook her head for emphasis. “I hate it! You’re not alone anymore Alisson – You can’t just throw your life away whenever you feel like it!”

Alisson stared into the muddy ground guiltily.

After a moment, he found himself smiling despite being scolded.

“It feels so good to be yelled at for that…” He said aloud. To know that Celis was angry at him, fearful of losing him. Celis pouted in response, and he quickly elaborated, “I understand…I was being selfish…” He shook his head. “I’m all too used to living only for my orders…”

Celis broke into a ginger smile, pleased with his words. He stepped closer and nuzzled his neck, “Just don’t it again.” She muttered.

***

1. Corps a corps. Means ‘body to body’ in French. In modern sport fencing, it signifies body contact between the two fencers, it is illegal in Foil and Sabre bouts, but it is permitted in Epee if its not malicious in nature. Think two fencers running chest to chest up on each other through some means or another.