Deep in the Salted Lands, the Hugo met a familiar face. The silver knight, the dragon, Brandt Herrman. The two dragons had fought each other more than a few times over Hugo’s past lifetime, but more often than not Brandt was far from lucid. Now, however, he was awake. Their meeting again was the product of patience, as much as it was fate. And getting lost in the woods certainly helped.
“Hugo,” Brandt called.
“Brandt,” Hugo answered.
“It’s good to see you’re alive and well,” Brandt said, brandishing the sword fused to his arm.
“We fought not too long ago,” Hugo said.
“I see…” Brandt said. “It’s a shame I can’t recall it. You’ve grown.”
“I have,” Hugo said. “It’s been some years since we first met.”
“Yes,” Brandt said. “It must have been. You’ve become a fine warrior. Anyone with eyes could see it.”
“I have two good teachers to thank for that,” Hugo said.
“Oh? Who could have taught you so much?” Brandt asked.
“One is Rinaldo, the strongest man alive today,” Hugo said. “They call him the Empyrean, the one sent by the heavens.”
“An impressive man, I see,” Brandt said. “Who’s the other?”
“The other,” Hugo said, “is the First Saintess’s closest companion. The one who received part of her powers. And her burdens.” Hugo pulled his sword. “The White Dragon. I never learned his name. But I’m certain it’s Brandt Herrman.”
“Haha,” Brandt chuckled. “To think I’d foster such a talented young hero.”
“A hero… I’m not certain of that,” Hugo said. “They call me the Black Dragon. I’ve been told I have a talent for collecting the skills of my opponents. Those dead.”
Brandt quieted. He stood as still as old, stagnant water, one that had been festering in some pit deep under the earth. “What do you intend to collect from me?” he asked.
“Please grant me the First Saintess’s powers,” Hugo said. “Think of it as a parting gift.”
The two men circled each other, until they didn’t. In just a few blurry clashes, the duel ended. Their swords didn’t crash like thunder, nor did the earth break in half. They didn’t split the sky and the sun didn’t shine brightly upon the duelists; the gods cared not for their clash, or maybe they dared not watch. The only traces the two dragons left in the world were two footprints from where they leaped at each other. It was like the world hadn’t even noticed. It started quietly, happened quietly, and ended quietly with Hugo on his knee, bleeding from a wide cut across his chest up to his right shoulder. He looked ready to accept death, his neck hanging low, ready for the executioner’s blade. The crumpled Hugo was the visage of defeat itself.
“It was a fine fight,” Brandt said, raising his sword over Hugo’s neck.
Hildebrand wanted to close her eyes but couldn’t keep her eyes off. She held onto the Hugo standing next to her and shook him. “Is this how you died!” she asked. “Hugo!” She shook him.
“I’ll give you a swift end,” Brandt said. His sword shook with hesitation.
Before Brandt could bring the sword down, Hugo sprang to life, twice as lively as he had been during their clash. He gripped Brandt’s sword arm and drove his sword through Brandt’s chest. The glowing sword punched a hole through Brandt’s silver chest plate and came out the back.
“To think!” Brandt growled. “You’d engage in such trickery!”
“…Why not?” Hugo replied. “I wasn’t chosen by the heavens or the gods or Altamea,” he said. “No one shared their power with me. I had to take everything for myself.” When Brandt’s back creaked and cracked and snapped, when leathery wings sprouted from the Overman’s, from Brandt’s back, Hugo twisted his blade. He twisted it until Brandt collapsed to his knees, blood spilling from the fleshy partitions of his silver armor. Then Hugo slashed his sword out to the side, severing Brandt’s arm and one of his newly formed wings. “I’ll do whatever it takes, and use whatever I can. Whether it’s force. Or trickery… Whether it’s righteous. Or not. It’s all the same to me,” Hugo huffed.
Although he bled, Hugo didn’t appear so injured to be huffing for his life. Instead, his eyes grew spiritless and dull. They narrowed with shame and frustration. “I don’t like to show others my weakness. I don’t like to be hurt,” Hugo said. “And I don’t like hurting others. I just want this all to be done and over with."
Even bleeding like a fountain, Brandt listened quietly and patiently, like an older gentleman listening to the grievances of a young, wayward protégé.
“I just want to marry Hilde and live a quiet life,” Hugo said. His brows furrowed in frustration and his teeth gritted with anger. “I’m sorry, Brandt. I’m not like you. I’m not a warrior. And I was never a knight.”
“Hah! Haha,” Brandt chortled with energy despite his bleeding. “You’re still a young man, and yet you have so many regrets. How ridiculous! Hilde, is that your Saintess’s name?”
Hugo stammered, jumbling through noises and words. “Y-Yes,” Hugo said.
“What of her family?”
“She’s just Hilde,” Hugo said.
“Just Hilde. And just Hugo,” Brandt said. “That won’t do. I’ll grant you what you wanted.”
“Really?” Hugo asked. “Even though I cheated your honor?” His eyes brightened a little, like the child inside was glimmering through.
Brandt’s dragon eye stared a hole into Hugo. “You didn’t come here expecting to simply receive it, am I correct?” he asked.
Hugo’s eyes narrowed with frustration again, like he had been stabbed. “Yes,” he confessed.
“You had some plan,” Brandt accused.
“Yes…” Hugo answered quietly.
“Good,” Brandt growled. “You’re no fool then. But it was a ludicrous plan, I’m sure.”
Hugo cast his eyes down in shame. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve tarnished your honor, and mine.”
“Honor? Hahaha. Don’t act so lowly, boy. There’s no need for a man to lower his head to a mere monster. Monsters have no honor,” Brandt said. “So, raise your chin. I’ll grant you the name Herrman.”
“That’s—”
“That will give you the power you seek,” Brandt said. “Acknowledge it.”
“Y-yes!” Hugo said. “I accept the name Herrman!”
“Good enough,” Brandt said. “Now hurry and lay me to rest, before my body mends itself. I don’t know what will happen if you leave it be.”
Hugo’s elation deflated as he raised his blade.
“I’m sorry, Brandt,” Hugo said again.
“One word of advice,” Brandt said. “Some roads only end in ruin, no matter how much you struggle. Or how mighty or clever you are. The best and worst schemes of man are equally worthless when laid before fate. That’s the limit of man.” Brandt, even with a dragon’s head made of steel, seemed to smile. “But have faith. Have hope,” he said. “Sometimes fate is kind.” He gave a nod. “Farewell, Hugo Herrman.”
Hugo raised his sword high, high enough to a deliver a strike from the heavens.
“Ah,” Brandt said. “One more thing.”
Hugo relaxed his sword again.
“You, too, were chosen by someone,” Brandt said. “By that Hilde of yours. So, stay by her side. It’s not good to be alone.” He nodded again and lowered his head.
On cue, Hugo beheaded the dragon that had once been a man. His monstrous form dissolved and left behind the corpse of a man, a mere man. Even his corpse burned into dust, leaving only behind a small lock of red hair. In the ashes was a tarnished gold locket on a chain. Hugo held it and gingerly brushed away the ash with his thumb. It was the Sword of the Sun.
***
When Hugo returned to his camp, he found the Virtues waiting for him. They had even brought some of the Empire’s soldiers and knights along this time. Montisal was sat playing chess with Rinaldo when he looked up; he had been in the middle of winning.
“Oh! Look who it is, looking rather bloody, aren’t you?” he said in his slithering, raspy voice.
“I got lost in the woods, and I ran into some enemies,” Hugo said, holding his hastily wrapped and healed wound.
“Oh… Oh shit,” Montisal murmured. “You’ve gone and done something stupid.” He stood slowly. Rinaldo, eying Montisal, did as well.
“What—”
Both Montisal and Rinaldo vanished from Hugo’s sight.
If it hadn’t been for Rinaldo’s quick intervention, Hugo’s head would have been laying on the ground instead of Rinaldo’s little finger.
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“R-Ren!” Hugo screamed. He scrambled to Rinaldo like a scared boy, on the tips of his toes, but Rinaldo pushed Hugo back, just in time to lock blades with Montisal. Losing the finger put him at a clear disadvantage, as did the deep cut in his side.
“We’re under attack!” Rinaldo roared, loud enough for the entire camp to hear. “Organize your squads! The enemy is the Apollyan Empire and the knights in red!”
“Hugo, get a hold of yourself, you fool,” Rinaldo growled. “Take Hilde and go. Take whoever you can and run to the World’s End. I’ll rally everyone else and take down as many as I can.” He pushed Montisal into the air with a tremendous force, but Montisal floated down as if he were leisurely descending steps.
“You’re the same as always,” Montisal said to Rinaldo. “You saw through that cheap trick.”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the displeasure of meeting you before,” Rinaldo said. His voice was tense, like his chest was tight with a held breath.
Montisal tapped his sword in his other hand, as if summoning the other six Virtues to him. There were shouts and screams in the distance, and crashes and explosions of dirt and stone.
“We can fight them together,” Hugo said, touching his sword.
“You bonehead!” Rinaldo shouted. “This is already a lost cause! They took the initiative. Go!”
Hugo hesitated for a moment as he turned.
“Go,” Rinaldo said, placing a bloody handprint on Hugo’s black armor. That dark red stain on Hugo’s back stood out like a burning emblem.
It sent Hugo into a flight. He ran like he did when he was a child running from his pursuers in the slums. He ran straight to Hilde, tearing apart confused Empire soldiers who had the misfortune of standing in his way. He didn’t even give her a chance to ask questions; he whisked her away. Others tried to join the duo, but as the chaos intensified, they could only leave their own bloody marks on Hugo’s armor before turning to defend his rear. Only Greg, Yuna, and Anya were able to join and stay by Hugo and Hilde’s side. There were a few others who joined in as they made a daring escape into the buffer zone. Of the army that had been hundreds strong, only eight people escaped.
They ran until it turned dark, and when it did, a pillar of light descended from the sky onto where Hugo’s camp once stood. The sound of a distant hum followed it, like horns blowing low and loud. Then came rolling clouds of dirt, boulders, and entire trees. The torrential surge of earth threatened to swallow everything for dozens of miles away, and tore up the land for many miles more. It was thanks to Hilde, Anya, and the two mages that joined the group that they survived the cataclysm. However, the two unnamed mages—a seemingly young girl and a slender, masked man with light blonde hair—gave their lives to form a first line of defense. When the chaos quieted, and when the land stood still, they were gone.
The party hardly had time to find the two lost mages. The two only left behind an oversized, billowy hat and a white mask that had hid their identities. Those items became grave markers for the two who did the best they could to defend the party with hastily cast defense spells. They were already well buried.
“What was that?” Hildebrand asked. It was unlike anything she’d seen before. It was like a great soul being called back by the gods.
“That,” Hugo said, answering for once, “was Ren’s final attack.”
Hildebrand realized she had seen something like it once. Or she had almost seen something like it. When Rinaldo died before her. He had been a great Sage long before he became a swordsman. There were mages who could summon surging fires that could scorch entire towns, those who could summon storms over entire kingdoms, or hear the secrets of fate by listening to the moon. Rinaldo had stood above them all.
Hildebrand stood in silence thinking about Rinaldo, the man who had spared her from his final dying attack, and perhaps many others too. She thought about the two unknown mages as well.
“Who were they?” she asked.
“…I don’t know their names. I never learned them,” Hugo said, frowning. “Ah,” he muttered, “the guy with the mask, he always went on about how he was a genius. They both butted heads with Hilde from time to time.”
“Were they her friends?” Hildebrand asked.
“She was friends with everyone,” Hugo said.
***
The remaining party’s long journey into the World’s End, into the dark remains of the old human empire, was hasty and desperate. There were countless battles, and countless more stitches added to Hugo’s coat. His black armor seemed to soak in the inky, black blood of corrupted monstrosities and Overmen alike. But even that couldn’t paint over the bloody handprints his friends and allies had left on his way out. They seemed to take shape, like a spell, a curse. Those hands formed a singular handprint on his back, one that pushed him down the path he had set out on with Hilde, one he couldn’t deviate from.
The miserable adventure brought the survivors together. They were allies turned friends turned family. Even Yuna, whom Hildebrand couldn’t bring herself to like, treated Hilde like a younger sister whom she quietly doted over.
“I’m older than her,” Hildebrand told Hugo. Her voice was ever so slightly pitched, annoyed. “I’m older.”
“Ok,” he cluelessly answered.
When Yuna gifted Hilde a familiar broken cup, mended by gold, Hildebrand couldn’t help but feel guilty for being annoyed at Yuna.
“It isn’t much,” Yuna told Hilde. “But it’s something important to me. Please use it well.”
Hilde nodded, and she came to use that cup religiously. She would always bring it out whenever they made camp and brewed tea. She shared it with Hugo. She let Anya sip from it. She even let Greg use it once. And it made its way back to Yuna more than a few times. Hilde called it beautiful, like a precious work of art. When Greg asked if it was okay to use such a thing, Hilde asked him, “Why wouldn’t I use it? What else would I do with it?” Yuna laughed at that answer. It was always meant to be used.
There was just one member, a silent knight, who remained distant from the others. He wore unusually ornate plate armor, once painted in garish colors, now weathered down to the raw steel underneath. And he was tall, taller than even Hugo, although slenderer. He hardly even lifted the visor of his helm, much less remove the helm altogether. His identity was a mystery.
But he proved to be a reliable ally despite his ephemeral presence. Even if he disappeared during a battle, he would return, covered in the blood of unseen enemies. And even through his helmet, anyone could tell his eyes lingered on Anya.
“Who is that?” Hildebrand asked Hugo.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “He just showed up at the camp one day, and we accepted him. He was strong. One of the strongest I’ve ever seen.”
“Stronger than you?”
“I don’t know,” Hugo said. “I’ve never seen his full strength.”
That mysterious knight seemed to come and go until one day he went on ahead alone and never returned. After that, the party’s path was safer. Days and nights became more peaceful. It gave them a chance to scavenge and gather resources and recuperate.
The dark world of the World’s End was as Hildebrand remembered it. Like a world on the verge of decay, yet frozen forever in time. There were towns where food was left untouched on tables ages ago, but they looked as if they had just been set down. According to Hilde’s taste test, they tasted just as good; she gave a thumbs up with stuffed cheeks.
“Can’t you at least purify it first or something?” Greg asked.
“Oh,” she said, still chewing. “Good idea. After I finish this.”
Strangely, some nights seemed to skip prematurely.
“Hey,” Hildebrand said. “What’s going on?” She wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been in the middle of watching those memories intently.
Hugo’s grimace betrayed his concentration and his scheming.
“Hey, are you trying to suppress those memories?” Hildebrand asked.
“They’re not memories exactly,” Hugo reminded her.
“Whatever,” Hildebrand said. “I want to see it! What happened?”
“No,” Hugo grunted. “It’s private.”
“Private?” Hildebrand asked. “It’s just you and me! And that’s me!” She pointed to Hilde. “That’s me!” She pointed more vigorously in frustration. “Look! Where I’m pointing! Hugo!”
But Hugo shook his head, his face contorting as Hildebrand tested his patience.
“You look constipated,” Hildebrand said.
“Pft! Hahaha!” Hugo’s concentration broke with laughter.
Hildebrand caught a glimpse of Hugo and Hilde’s interleaving fingers and blushing smiles as they slinked away into their tent, and their shadows shedding clothes. Hidlebrand covered her face with her hands but peeked between her own fingers. Her heart pounded. It ached. It was only natural for those in love. She hoped there would be a happy ending to that love story, even though a sinking feeling warned her not to get her hopes up.
When Hugo regained his concentration, Hildebrand found herself face to face with Montisal.
“Quite the adventure you’ve been on,” he said.
Hugo didn’t waste time mincing words, but neither did Montisal. They clashed worn swords with a crash.
“You cockroach,” Hugo growled. “I’m glad you survived. I wanted to kill you with my own two hands.”
“I should be saying that to you,” Montisal said. “Your friend did quite a bit of damage to us. But I took his head for that.” He grabbed a poach off his waist and threw it to the ground. Ears and fingers scattered to the ground, a variety of them. “And a couple of souvenirs, too.”
There was one in particular that stood out even to Hildebrand. A finger with the permanent impression of a twisting wedding band. It was the only thing that could be called a permanent scar on Rinaldo’s body. Hugo must have seen it too, as he exploded with fury.
“I’ll tear you apart!” he roared.
Hugo bore down on the red-clad knight with the full weight of his monstrous strength. And yet, Montisal withstood it. Hugo’s gargantuan, even mythical strength brought Montisal almost to his knees, but only almost. The knight in red found the strength to push Hugo back up and push away from him.
They seemed evenly matched in many respects: speed, power, and reaction. Yet Hugo hurdled into headfirst into clash after resounding clash, tearing up the ground with each powerful step and whistling through the air like an arrow. He seemed rash compared to Montisal, who floated away from Hugo’s swings like a feather. Montisal’s indifferent evasiveness only enraged Hugo further, but no matter how fast Hugo ran or swung, Montisal was always a hair’s breadth away from the tip of Hugo’s sword; sparks would fly, but not blood.
Only Greg and Yuna could keep up with them, and barely at that, not enough to land any clean hits. Even Anya’s conjured storms and lightning were too slow coming from the sky to hit the red knight, who moved like a blur. And Hugo followed Montisal too closely for Anya to conjure any catastrophic spells. Hugo chased Montisal further and further, getting further away from Hilde.
“Hugo!” Hilde shouted from a distance. “Calm down! Stay close!”
Her words were the catalyst for the first turn in the battle. The rampaging Hugo landed a shallow cut on Montisal, even grinding his glowing blade through Montisal’s red armor to deliver the meager blow. In return, Hugo received a stab to his shoulder, one that seemed to force him to flee to Hilde’s safe reach.
Unlike the quick and quiet battle against Brandt, the battle against Montisal was long and tedious. Hilde made sure of that. Her voice had reached Hugo, and he would stop chasing after Montisal to return every so often to receive her healing, which was good enough. His stamina and mental strength didn’t recover so easily, but he was in better shape than Montisal, who had accumulated dozens of shallow cuts.
But Hugo and Hilde’s routine became predictable. When Hugo exchanged blows with Montisal and retreated again to Hilde’s side, Montisal followed him closely, too closely and quickly for anyone to intervene, let alone for Hilde to run. Anya, who desperately tried to physically intervene with her staff received a glancing blow from Montisal’s thrown sword that nearly took her arm. The scarlet knight’s fist smashed into the side of Hugo’s helmet and when the disoriented Hugo swung back wildly, Montisal grabbed his arm and threw him overhead, headfirst into the ground.
Before the treacherous knight could stomp on Hugo’s neck, Hilde screamed.
“Get away! Get away from him!” she shouted, swinging her branched staff into Montisal head. It cracked and splintered, and so did the knight’s helmet.
Montisal reflexively covered his face with one hand and threw the other fist out, smashing it into Hilde’s arm. Her staff bent and crackled, trying to stop the blow, but it failed. It bent too much and gave too much. Hilde let out a short yelp as she was tossed far away, tumbling and skipping on the ground as if she had been hit by a giant’s warhammer.
“No!”
Hugo swung his sword up at a stunned Montisal. It was almost a deadly blow and even looked as if it should have been. The knight’s arm flew away, along with most of his left shoulder. It was his dominant hand, like Hugo. He had barely missed the swing to his head by tilting his head away. He kicked Hugo away and scrambled back. He seemed more interested in his masking his face with his one hand than holding his open wound.
When Hugo sat up, his eyes flickering between the enemy before him and the love of his life sitting in a distant dust cloud, Montisal growled at him. “Stop, you have more pressing matters,” he said. “Tend to the Saintess.” He fled just like that.
Greg tried to give chase, but Montisal kicked up an immense cloud of dust and vanished. Hugo, whose arm had been haphazardly kicked by Montisal’s stomping foot earlier, crawled to his knees with his one good arm and then to his feet. Even though he ran as if he were on the verge of collapsing, he ran faster than he had ever run before. He ran to Hilde.