“What in hell was that?”
Nelson, vice-commander of the ducal army, shrieked in shock as he wiped a sar of blood from his cheek.
A colossal explosion had ripped through their vanguard.
It was like the sorcery of the Demonkin, but there were no Demonkin within the Empire’s army. That ant this was the work of the Imperials.
Is such a thing even possible?
He hadn’t even seen what hit them.
First, a bolt of what looked like lightning slamd into the earth. Seconds later, a barrage of other… things followed.
One mont, petals drifted down like lethal snow. The next, unseen projectiles struck like arrows. Then, phantoms of the Eastern Continent’s monsters flickered into being among his n, sowing chaos before vanishing.
An Imperial artifact. Realization struck him.
That would explain it.
Weren’t artifacts forged from the sealed powers of the Demonkin? Relics from a bygone noble who dabbled in forbidden research. If the enemy wielded one of those, this level of destruction made a terrifying kind of sense.
Damn it all. We’ve lost too many n. The vice-commander ground his teeth, his gaze fixed on the fortress walls.
An artifact. It was an unfair weapon, a cheater’s tool. Besides, weren’t they reserved for the Emperor alone? If not for that law, the man would have lost his head and his throne long ago.
But the Emperor’s mortality wasn’t the problem at hand. The battle was.
The plan had been to stall, to bleed the fortress dry. But if the other side could unleash that power again and again, retreat was suicide.
No… charging forward was their only chance.
“All units, advance!” the vice-commander bellowed, spurring his horse toward the fortress. “Leave the wounded! Everyone, to the walls!”
His roar cut through the chaos. The soldiers, shaken but not broken, rallied and charged the walls.
Ladders slamd against the ramparts with heavy thuds. Siege engines groaned as they were dragged into position, then unleashed their payloads. Stone shattered against stone with deafening cracks until, with a final, grinding roar, a section of the wall collapsed.
“Charge!” the vice-commander scread, driving his horse toward the breach.
His soldiers and knights surged after him, scaling the walls and pouring through the gap.
Strange, he thought. They’re barely resisting.
Were the Imperials overwheld by their montum? It seed they were simply waiting for them to climb.
“We’re almost there! For the Duke! End this war!”
“Haaaah!”
With a thunderous war cry, the knights sward the ramparts. Watching them, the vice-commander allowed himself a grim smirk.
At this rate, they would win.
Win the battle.
Win the war.
He would be a founding hero of the new empire.
A marquisate, perhaps? Or… a duchy? At the very least, he’d be nad chancellor.
He had served Duke Artezia for decades. Of course he would be rewarded first.
The vice-commander’s smirk softened into a greedy grin as he pictured his future.
The fantasy lasted exactly five minutes. Five minutes from the mont the first attack had struck.
“You’re all clustered so nicely.”
The voice was low, conversational, cutting through the din of battle.
Nelson scanned the ramparts, searching frantically for the speaker.
He found him: a young man with black hair and the sharp, predatory look of a wolf. A nobleman, by his bearing.
The man raised a bow, his voice soft as he nocked an arrow.
“Perfect for a bonfire.”
With a soft whoosh, the arrowhead blossod into fla. A quiet twang followed as the young man released the string.
An arrow of fire arced toward him and his knights.
And in that instant, the vice-commander understood. The artifact, the lightning, the petals of death. It was all just… arrows. Fired by that one young man.
A single, choked gasp escaped his lips. The realization settled in his gut, cold and absolute.
I’m going to die.
The arrow struck the man next to him with a sickening thump. Then, a wall of fire erupted, a roaring inferno that swallowed him whole.
As the flas consud him, the vice-commander let out a hollow, crackling laugh.
Louis Berg.
So the rumors were true. The monster who had annihilated a Demonkin army… was real.
With a final, deafening BOOM, the world dissolved into light and heat.
The vice-commander of the ducal army was no more.
* * *
Acrid smoke coiled from the pyres that had once been n. I wrinkled my nose at the sight of the enemy forces, now little more than charred husks and blackened ash.
“Such a vile stench,” I muttered.
It was thick enough to numb the senses, the sll of not one or two bodies, but hundreds, all burned to nothing. The nausea was a physical thing, clawing at the back of my throat.
A wet, heaving sound ca from beside . Soone was already retching.
“Sir Plot, this is no ti for vomiting.”
He looked up, green-faced. “Urp… yes, sir?”
“I said we have no ti.”
I turned my gaze back to the field. A sea of enemies remained. We were so outnumbered that my first volley had barely thinned their ranks.
I heard Sir Plot swallow his bile beside .
Quite gross, I thought, the image of Lancelot flashing through my mind. Just like him.
I plucked another arrow from my quiver.
Then…
“The real battle starts now.”
The bowstring sang. The arrow flew.
It was a modification of my master’s technique, Full Bloom—an arrow from which fire blossod. The sa power that had just turned a vanguard into ash.
The arrow struck the ground, and another concussive BOOM ripped through the air.
The explosion tore through their lines, but this ti, the result was different.
“An amusing trick,” a voice bood, deep and resonant.
An Ogre stepped through the smoke, flanked by its own retinue. A chieftain.
This was the worst-case scenario.
The Ogre chieftain spread a massive, gauntleted hand.
A mont later, he uttered, “Arise, my puppets of war.”
A sickening, grinding sound filled the air, the creak of bone and strained sinew.
The dead began to rise. Not just their own, but ours. They moved with the jerky, unnatural gait of puppets on a string, their dead eyes fixed on us.
“…What is this?” a soldier whispered nearby.
A wave of despair washed over our lines. What was the point of fighting an enemy you had to kill twice? The n we’d just slain were rising again, soulless and implacable.
“They’re just corpses! They can’t use Aura!” a knight bellowed, trying to rally the n. “We just have to kill them again! Do not fear! I, Cain Vartia, will take that bastard’s head and—”
His speech was cut short by a flicker of movent. With a wet, slicing sound, his head tumbled from his shoulders.
“Now that’s a sha…”
The Imperials had assud the dead couldn’t channel Aura.
An understandable mistake. Necromancy was unfair enough; for the risen to retain their skills would be absurdly overpowered.
The problem was, this ability was that absurd.
“Relay this to our allies,” I told Sir Plot. “Those revived by that power retain the skills they had in life.”
“What?! Is that even possible?” Sir Plot stamred.
“You’re seeing it with your own eyes,” I said, my voice cold. “You cannot asure that thing by human standards.”
A soft hum filled the air around as a halo of light coalesced above my head.
“That is an Aspect,” I explained, more to myself than to Plot. “The power of a Demonkin… no, one of the Twelve Nobles.”
The halo, a wreath of ethereal flowers, began to spin, bathing in an energy that felt almost divine.
I drew and loosed an arrow straight into the sky. As it reached its apex, it vanished.
The gray sky tore open, and pillars of sacred light rained down upon the battlefield. Where the light touched our allies, wounds sealed and exhaustion fled. Fragrant, impossible flowers blood across the blood-soaked earth.
But where it touched the enemy, especially the risen dead, it burned. Agonized shrieks echoed from their ranks as the holy energy scoured the Ogre’s corrupting influence.
This was my Mindscape, transford. The power of a saint, touching the divine.
“…Gods, what is this now?” Sir Plot muttered, staring in awe.
I turned to him, my voice sharp. “There’s no ti to gawk.”
“…Sir?”
“This technique has a short duration,” I said, watching Duke Artezia’s forces lt under the light.
But the light was already fading. The living among the enemy, maddened by the sight, were charging with renewed ferocity.
“So go and fight.”
I nocked another arrow, this one crackling with raw power.
As I loosed a dragon forged of pure Aura into their ranks, I added, “The battle has just begun.”
* * *
The heavens split, and light poured down like a waterfall.
“…He really knows how to make an entrance,” Lancelot muttered, clicking his tongue.
It had to be the captain. He’d seen the phenonon once before, but it had been nothing like this. Not this… potent.
“I’m not sure he’s even human anymore.”
“Your face isn’t exactly a portrait of humanity either,” Kai’s dry voice cut in.
“…Why do you have to be like that?” Lancelot’s expression soured.
Kai was probably joking, but the remark stung. Not because of his looks, but because of the madman who’d reached the rank of Grand Master in less than three years.
Then again, Lancelot thought, he’s the one who made this way.
Anyone else would call him a monster in his own right. He was a Grand Master, after all.
But he knew the truth. He wasn’t on the captain’s level. He was a Grand Master only because the captain had dragged him there, kicking and screaming.
Without him? He’d have probably died an Expert, bleeding out in so forgotten ditch.
“…Still, it’s damn impressive,” Lancelot admitted, gripping his spear tighter.
With the captain putting on a show like that, his subordinates couldn’t just stand around looking pretty. He took a deep breath, and his Aura flared to life.
The captain’s orders were simple: hold this section of the wall with Kai. He had no money, no special talents. Following orders was the only way he knew to repay his debt.
“All right, Kai. Try to keep up.”
“You try to keep up with ,” Kai retorted, and without another word, he dropped over the edge of the wall.
Lancelot sighed. When it ca to being contrary, the boy was in a class of his own.
“Hey, wait up!”
He vaulted over the rampart, landing beside Kai in the thick of the fighting.
The nearby soldiers stared at them like they were madn, leaping into the heart of the enemy horde.
But to Lancelot and Kai, it was just another Tuesday. What they’d endured under the captain’s command made this look like a tavern brawl.
A thousand-to-one odds? Child’s play.
A wide sweep of Lancelot’s spear cleared a circle around them.
“Co and get so!” he roared, a manic grin on his face.
Watching him, Kai shook his head.
“…When will he ever grow up?” he murmured.
And then he moved. His blade beca a blur, a silver whisper that parted heads from shoulders. Shnk, shnk, shnk. A dozen n fell before they even knew he was there.
A faint, sharp glint appeared in Kai’s eyes.
The overture was over.
The real battle had begun.
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