As the battles accumulated, so too did the weariness on Hugo’s face and the scars on his spirit. Even as human hands slowly tightened around victory, pushing back the Black Death, even as he and Hilde grew stronger, a darkness overtook them. Hugo in particular seemed sensitive to the despair that surrounded them. Despite training with Rinaldo, Hugo gave into his wrathful instincts more and more. He often fell to his hands and knees roaring in anger after each Pyrrhic victory, like he was becoming a true beast.

Although victory was on the horizon, no one would remain to celebrate it. Rinaldo would chart out the territory humanity gained back from the Black Death and Overmen. It grew with each battle. Then he would shade the areas devoid of life in red. The red areas grew even faster.

Hugo and Hilde were fighting for the sake of a dead world. Too many lives had been lost already and would be lost in the aftermath. Only pockets of civilization remained, clustered in a handful of hastily walled cities that were crumbling under the weight of the chaotic lives that crowded the streets.

Even with the Saintess’s powers, Hilde could only do so much to help people, especially when she was needed on the battlefront. As rage and madness gathered in Hugo’s narrowed eyes, so did the bitterness and callousness in Hilde’s eyes. Her fearful tears dried up, but so too did the compassionate ones. But there was something else in her eyes, a light that pierced the darkness. Hildebrand wasn’t sure if it was hope or simply some desperate delusion.

Hilde and Hugo traveled together, collecting warriors who still had the strength to fight. First, Hugo dueled and overcame the one-armed Greg, a notorious ignoble knight, whom Hugo brought into the party. It was the first time Hugo put his newfound patience and cleverness to an actual test outside of spars with Rinaldo. It more like playing than actual sword-fighting, and while the playful nature of the exchange let Hugo’s qualities shine, his outwardly austere swordsmanship didn’t impress the defeated Greg. The ignoble knight was more interested in Hugo’s friendship.

Greg’s recruitment by the Saintess and her dark knight might have become hot news had it not been for humanity being scattered. Instead, Hugo and Hilde had to travel far and wide, up and down the west, in search of more talented swordsmen and mages. They were turned down by many so-called warriors, by those who called themselves brilliant and genius, those who wielded legendary wands and blessed swords, those elite few who guarded the remaining nobility of the western kingdoms.

Hugo and Hilde turned to foreign lands instead. With support from lords and merchants who lent a sympathetic ear, the duo sent envoys and ships filled with gold, spices, and wares across the world. The envoys never returned. Until one day, a handful of ships filled with warriors, including Yuna, returned. It was Yuna’s master’s favor to the Apollyan Empire. The Empress of the far-east felt their mission was an insane, yet worthy cause.

Then they traveled to the cold north. Despite the cold slowing the Black Death, it was just as devastated as any part of the world. The Northmen had only barely united after years of infighting, and by then their tribes and towns had been decimated. They had little aid to offer Hugo and Hilde. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Hugo forced a smile and told Hilde of the garish yellow pines in a certain town on the way back. He had seen them once while traveling from battlefield to battlefield long ago.

When they arrived, Hilde smashed her fist into Hugo’s side in anger. She cursed him out for lying about the color of the red pine tree. He crumpled like a sack of potatoes, like a dead body.

“I never hit you that hard,” Hildebrand observed.

“It was about the same,” Hugo rebutted. “I developed a sixth sense for it, so I braced myself.”

Hildebrand hesitantly placed a hand on Hugo’s shoulder and asked him, “D-did she abuse you?”

Hugo laughed the question off. It was only a half-serious question, anyway.

Hugo and Hilde approached the tall red pine tree that stood over the ruins of the town. Even half destroyed, the natural monument was unbowed. It was similar to the scarred Hugo in a way.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Hilde. He purveyed the ruins that had long since been buried in snow. “This isn’t what I wanted to show you.”

Hilde ventured ahead and placed her hand and her three fingers on the warm bark of the red pine tree, and she called to Hugo, who carefully stepped into the footprints Hilde left in the snow, following after her.

She told him, “Feel this.”

Hugo placed his hand on the tree. But the embattled man was a little impatient. He was unsettled by the old destruction that surrounded them. He fidgeted.

Hilde’s fingers inched closer to Hugo’s. “It’s warm. Even in this cold place,” she said. “So, I won’t give up.” Her fingers intertwined with Hugo’s. “I’ll pray for a brighter tomorrow, no matter how bad things get. I’ll have faith.”

The quiet Hugo pulled his hand away and stood solemnly like a tower, leaving Hilde to suffer alone in the presence of his enigmatic silence. Then he laid his hand atop Hilde’s. “I will too. I’ll have faith in you,” he said.

Hilde giggled. “I hope I remember this forever,” she said. “I don’t want to forget.”

Hildebrand could still remember the tree’s warmth, and the warmth of Hugo’s hand covering hers. She didn’t want to forget. The couple stood like they were alone in the world. They stood forever, with hands overlaid, like being together granted them infinite time and the infinite patience that eternity demanded. It was a kind of peace that Hildebrand could hardly recognize when she looked upon it, yet it seemed so familiar.

“I’ve never held anything with these hands,” Hilde told Hugo. “Everything always slipped away.”

“Neither have I,” Hugo said. “But now I’m holding the whole world.”

Hilde laughed, and she giggled. “The whole world?”

Hugo’s lips slowly parted into a smile. “More than the world,” he said. “The Sun. My Sun.” His hands wrapped around Hilde’s waist and whisked her up. “I want to hold her high so she can shine upon this world.” He pulled her in close, and tight. “I want to hold her tight, and keep her all to myself. And never let go.”

“You’re a greedy man,” Hilde said.

“I’m no mere man. I’m the Black Dragon,” he said. “I won’t be satisfied unless I possess the gods’ most beautiful creation. I’ll hold her in these clumsy hands. Play with her silky hair.” His fingers ran through Hilde’s copper-colored hair as his hand moved up her back to the nape of her slender neck. “And taste her sweet lips.”

Hildebrand watched as they kissed. It was sweet, but it left a bitter taste in her mouth. One that made her furrow her brows in frustration.

Hilde wrapped her arms around Hugo, her hands caressing his back gently, lovingly, without shame or fear or hesitation. She whispered, “I won’t let you slip through my fingers.”

“I’d never let you go,” Hugo said.

“I know,” Hilde cooed. “You get all sad without me. And you look like a sad little puppy.”

Hugo laughed, and he even giggled. “I don’t,” he protested. “Who told you that? Rinaldo?”

“…I just know,” she said. “I’ll make you happy, so don’t let go of me.”

“I won’t,” Hugo said, nuzzling Hilde’s neck. “My sweet, cinnamon-haired angel. My Sun.”

Hilde let out a whisper so quietly, Hildebrand wondered if the Hugo in her arms could even hear her. She said to him, “My Hero.”

Hildebrand rubbed her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Hugo asked.

Hildebrand smiled bitterly. “Of course,” she said, turning to her Hugo. The one who had left that love behind in some long-forgotten past.

Hugo’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes narrowed, trying to fight back tears. He was losing.

“Are you?” Hildebrand asked, reaching a hand to his face. She wanted to wipe the tears from Hugo’s eyes. He really was like a sad little puppy. One playing the role of a stoic hound. But Hildebrand held her hand back. And he turned his face away from her. His eyes cast downward, as if he were ashamed to let her see his weakness.

It was a happy memory, she told herself. She smiled. It was a happy memory. “My cinnamon-haired angel?” Hildebrand asked with a shaky voice. “I didn’t know you were such a poet,” she teased. She tried her best to lighten the unexpectedly dreary mood.

Hugo cracked a smile. “I’ve never been good with words,” he said. “I just said whatever came to mind. And she smelled like cinnamon that day.” His eyes darted to Hildebrand, like he had a realization.

Hildebrand fiddled with her golden hair and brushed it back, only for it to fall back into place. Do I smell like cinnamon? she wondered. Hugo’s eyes might have held the answer, but she didn’t want to look too deeply into them.

When the lovebirds were done with their date, they happened upon a fortunate encounter, Anya. She had returned to the ruins of her hometown to pay her respects. She joined Hugo and Hilde for just a few gold coins. She was like an entirely different woman than either of the two Anyas that Hildebrand knew. She had a cold gaze and spoke coldly, as if no one and nothing mattered to her. She had long hair like Sasha and carried the Ice Witch’s staff and pipe. And she carried the stuffed asberlin doll in her bag; he was her lone companion. Harold, was it? Or maybe it was Victor.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Hildebrand pointed to the doll. “What’s the deal with that thing?”

Hugo shrugged. “She had it in our world, too. I never asked her about it.”

Hildebrand huffed with disappointment. “You need to pay more attention to your friends,” she said. “And what happened to Sasha?”

“…She was corrupted before I ever met her. Anya slayed her,” Hugo answered.

“No, is that even possible?” Hildebrand said. If Maximilliana was the strongest woman, Sasha, the Ice Witch, may well very have been the second strongest. And those who were corrupted, even if they lost their minds, became much more powerful. They became like beasts spilling out the great and terrible things that made them human: all their strength, ability, passion, and their madness, and even their evil.

But in the strange world of Hugo’s memories, the commonsense Hildebrand knew didn’t matter at all. She caught sight of a fleeting memory off to the side. Hilde had a disagreement with an impatient knight they were trying to recruit; he had the vaguely familiar face of someone famous, someone strong. He couldn’t control his temper and smashed Hilde in the side for daring to point a finger in his face. The sound of cracking ribs and the sight of blood were the signal that launched the Black Dragon into unholy action.

Hildebrand couldn’t peel her eyes away from the sight of the carnage. The sight of Hilde laying on the ground, bleeding from the mouth, and the doomed knight standing above her. The sight of Hugo’s hands, his fingers like claws tearing through enchanted steel and digging into muscle and organs. The dull color of organs and ivory bone—

“Don’t look,” Hugo said, shielding Hildebrand with his coat.

But she could still hear it all. Her ears weren’t just for show, they were better than anyone else’s. She could hear it all. The sound of flesh and bone crunching together like overly ripe fruit. The wet splattering. The pitched screaming. The horrified gasps of other steel-hearted warriors who didn’t dare move. The heavy breathing and shouting of a man who was closer to a beast than a human. It was almost like the roaring of an actual dragon.

Hugo wasn’t strong beyond strong. He was beyond human. His sweet words to Hilde, his little pranks, his tender smiles, and even his melancholy seemed like a thin veneer. He was conceited for telling Rinaldo he no longer wanted to be a beast. The sounds of bones grinding and meat tearing made Hildebrand gag. It made her cling to the beast’s chest tighter as he wrapped an arm and a coat around her. Even when he roared for someone to come help his love, he was like a devil shouting fear directly into her ears. Hildebrand realized the Black Dragon had never bared his fangs at her.

“I’m sorry,” Hugo said. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

As he cradled Hildebrand in his strong arms, the ones that had torn a man apart like a piece of meat, Hildebrand wondered how they could be so gentle and reassuring. It was an intoxicating feeling. But that feeling was undercut a dreadful question: what made him return to the past?

That was the last hiccup in Hugo's recruiting campaign, for good reason. Everyone knew the infamous Black Dragon after that, and how fiercely he served the Saintess. Even kings and lords cast their eyes down in her presence while sitting stiff as stone statues. Only the seated emperor of the Apollyan Empire, Emperor Marcus, could look Hilde and Hugo in their eyes. And thanks to her rough exterior, Hilde gained a reputation of her own with a nickname to match: the Devilish Saintess, who could even tame the Black Dragon. Of course, it was spoken in hushed murmurs.

“Did I have any nicknames?” Hildebrand asked.

“Just The Saintess,” Hugo said.

“That’s hardly a nickname, right?” she said. “Every Saintess in history was called ‘The Saintess’.”

“No,” Hugo said. “You were The Saintess.”

“Oh,” Hildebrand murmured. The Devilish Saintess would have fit her better. Or maybe just Devil, she thought.

Hilde and Hugo’s recruitment yielded nearly two dozen famous warriors and mages, and a small army to command. Greg, Yuna, and Anya, Hugo’s closest companions in Hildebrand’s memories, were hardly his companions; they were merely recognizable faces in a sea of faces. There were other faces Hildebrand recognized, and others she didn’t. Hugo pointed at one roguish, mustached man in heavy plate armor. It was “Deckerd.” Hildebrand couldn’t recall who that was, so she simply nodded along. He also pointed out Rinaldo, who had been an on-again, off-again companion and a close friend of the duo.

But Hildebrand was more interested in Hilde, who stuck closely to Hugo, standing in the cover of his shoulder cape as he protectively draped his arm around her. It was like a painting of a black knight shielding his princess. Hildebrand admired the sight until her eyes glazed over, until she had to gulp down the spit that gathered in her tightly shut mouth.

Unfortunately, there was good reason for Hugo protecting Hilde so closely. Problems came after Hugo had gathered his army. They came from the Apollyan Empire, whose soldiers stopped Hugo and his forces from entering the buffer zone between the World’s End and the territories that humanity had reclaimed. It was, appropriately, called the Salted Lands. An area where the Black Death came and went like a churning tide, leaving only salt in its wake.

“What’s going on?” Hildebrand asked Hugo, her fingers prodding Hugo’s coat for an answer.

He put up his hands defensively like he was trying to ward off a wild animal named Hildebrand. “Just keep watching,” he said.

Hildebrand quietly huffed and did as she was told. She watched a small entourage approach Hilde and Hugo’s camp.

Seven knights clad in a matte red armor with white trim approached the duo. They wore tall helmets that left no openings for eyes or mouths, yet they spoke with loud whispers. Despite their eye-catching colors and unusual designs, their armors weren’t particularly extravagant or ornate, nor were the knights’ behaviors. They all strode with unique yet rough personalities, rather than in a dignified march befitting knights. They might even have been mistaken for a band of eccentric rogues, or perhaps a band of ragtag heroes, depending on their intentions.

“The Black Dragon, I presume,” said the knight in front, their leader. His colors were a little brighter than the rest, perhaps closer to scarlet. He spoke with a cold slithering voice, like a deadly snake, a beautiful one. He touched the angelic crest on his helmet with two fingers and tapped on it twice. It was an empty gesture. At least that was Hildebrand’s conclusion. Just some strange habit. “And the Saintess,” he said, placing his hand over his heart to bow. This time, there was elegance and composure in his voice, even if it was simply a thin veil over his venomous tongue. “They call me Montisal,” he said.

“Are you from the Empire, Sir Montisal?” Hugo asked.

“Yes,” Montisal said with a nod. “But please, just call me Montisal. Even Monty, if you’d be so friendly as to hear my request.”

“What do you want from us?” Hugo said.

“I humbly request you to stop this expedition,” Montisal said.

“Is this a request from the Emperor?” Hugo asked. “He gave us his full support. We—"

“The emperor? Hahaha,” Montisal chuckled. “This is from the Empire, not a mere man.”

“I’m not sure I understand those words,” Hugo said.

Hugo leisurely placed a hand on his sword’s pommel, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. A few among the red knights placed hands on their swords in response.

Montisal raised a hand, as if commanding patience itself to dwell in everyone gathered. They all moved their hands away from their weapons, even Hugo.

“The emperor is not your ally,” Montisal said. “He doesn’t have good intentions for Altamea’s Fire.”

“What?” Hugo asked.

“I know he tasked you with retrieving it,” Montisal said. “To fix this broken world. That’s what he told you.” The knight placed a heavy hand on Hugo’s shoulder, heavy enough for Hugo to wear discomfort openly on his face. “That’s a lie,” Montisal said. “So, stop this nonsense. The World’s End is already contained. Let it alone. Let it go back to sleep.” The scarlet knight patted Hugo’s shoulders. “You’d only be endangering your own lives. Go and make a home instead of playing hero. Better things await you than death and despair in that miserable hellhole. Don’t you think?”

Those words seemed to shake Hugo. His eyes widened slightly as if he had received some sort of divination.

“We can’t just turn a blind eye to everyone’s suffering,” Hilde said, stepping forward. “If we have Altamea’s Fire, we can fix everything.”

“Young Saintess,” Montisal said, his voice lowering to a grim rasp. “Do you even understand what you’re saying?”

Hilde opened her mouth, but this time she held her tongue.

“The cost to brandish its power is the Saintess’s life,” he said, pointing at Hilde. He pointed at her. “It’s the life of a foolish cinnamon-haired girl.”

“W-what?” Hilde muttered. “But… Even so that’s—”

“Is that true?” Hugo asked.

Montisal nodded. “How do you think the First Saintess died? Do you think someone with divine purpose died an ordinary death?”

Hugo’s brows furrowed in frustration, in confused pain and disgust.

“How can we trust you?” Hugo said.

“Hugo!” Hilde said. “Even if that’s true, it’s a price I’d gladly pay.”

“Hilde,” Hugo called. He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

Montisal chuckled. “If you weren’t moving so fast, I would have prepared something to earn your trust. But alas,” he said, gesturing with open, empty arms. “I didn’t think you’d be so… Brave as to venture into the World’s End. That’s a rare occurrence.”

Hugo grunted quietly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“You’ll have to put your faith in me,” Montisal said.

“Is there any way I can confirm your words?” Hugo asked.

“Read,” Montisal said.

“I do!” Hugo growled.

“Hahaha! Very good! You truly are a rare one!” Montisal clapped. “Then read the works of early Tenebrist scholars. You’ll find your answer there.”

“Whose?” Hilde asked.

“I’m not a walking encyclopedia of Tenebrism,” Montisal said. “I can hardly stand the gods myself,” he said.

“Hey,” Hilde growled.

“I’m only trying to show you my honest intentions,” Montisal said, placing his hand over his heart again. “I’d be remiss if I wasn’t even honest about my faith in front of the Saintess. If you want an answer from me, you’ll have to wait patiently. I can’t say I’m much of a reader, however.”

***

“They’re called the Virtues,” Rinaldo told Hugo. “The emperor informed me of them once, but I could hardly believe him then.”

“Why?” Hugo asked.

“Allegedly, they control the entire continent from the shadows. It was all very outlandish to me,” Rinaldo said. “But you noticed it too, right?”

“They were strong,” Hugo said. “My… Instincts were going wild.”

“For lack of better words, mine were as well,” Rinaldo said. “Fighting them would be disastrous.”

“You think we’d lose?” Hugo asked.

“No,” Rinaldo said. Despite his cheery tone, it lacked his usual boisterous confidence. It didn’t have the roaring strength that chased away Hugo’s fears and doubts. Then his tone lowered. “But our forces will suffer devastating losses. The Virtues aren’t the kind of opponents we can defeat with numbers, and only a handful among us are a match for any one of them. We’d be sending men to their deaths just to buy time until you or I could duel them.”

Hugo nodded. “I get it. Thanks Ren,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m not the right person to be playing commander.”

“It isn’t an easy task,” Rinaldo said.

Hugo buried his face in his hands, trying to bury a long, tired sigh in them. “Should I trust them?” Hugo asked. “I’m not sure if we should go anymore. If what Sir Montisal is true… But Hilde’s pretty mad at me…”

“Hahaha, you two did invest a lot of time preparing this expedition,” Rinaldo said. “I can’t say if they’re trustworthy. They certainly seem suspicious after all. But a little prudence may be the right move here.”

“But the longer we wait, the more people will suffer,” Hugo said.

Rinaldo placed a hand on Hugo’s shoulder. “Take your time, Hugo. I think you and Hilde, of all people, have earned some respite. Good things come to those who are patient.”

“Wouldn’t I only be delaying the inevitable?” Hugo asked.

“Just because you started down a path, doesn’t mean you have to travel it to the end, Hugo,” Rinaldo said. “The gods know I didn’t.” Rinaldo pulled a strange trinket—a badge with the globe encircled by the sun—from his coat and set it down. “And I’m glad for it.”

“What did you do?” Hildebrand asked Hugo.

“I waited,” Hugo said to Hildebrand, watching his old self go through stacks of old books. Some looked familiar to Hildebrand, for she had read them too, and some others looked familiar, for she never had a chance to read them; they were salvaged from the Holy Kingdom’s libraries. “I’m not sure if Ren was right, though,” he said.

One day, the past Hugo set down his last dusty book and told Hilde, “I have to go alone.”