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THE LOVE SONG OF THE SWORD DEVIL

Second Stanza

1

Wilhelm Trias saw the world as a very simple place. It could be broadly divided into the things he liked and the things he didn’t. And right now, what he saw in front of him was the very epitome of the latter.

“He broke through the demi-human encirclement at the Battle of Castour Field. He confronted and destroyed an entire squadron of demi-humans all by himself. The total number of heads he took was eighty-eight, including their captain’s. I’d say it’s a good thing he quit while he was…ahead! Ha-ha!”

“Personally, I wish he’d kept going. Nice try, though.”

“Oh, come on, ya traitor, do you always have to interrupt?”

“It’s my job.”

Wilhelm stood at attention as two men bantered in front of him. One was well built and tall, the picture of gallantry, while the other looked kind but tightly wound. Both wore the uniform indicating they were full members of the knights’ unit.

Wilhelm had been released from the medical center that morning and returned to the barracks before these two stopped him from heading to his daily duties.

He was suspicious. What could two knights want with him? The two of them seemed more and more interested in him, though he couldn’t hide his mistrust of his superiors.

“Sounds like he caused the enemy quite a headache. He just kept slicing them up until our army came and stopped him… They said when they found him, there was a mountain of corpses.”

“Everyone who saw him was scared out of their wits. They claimed a Sword Devil walks among us!”

“A Sword Devil!” the thin man said. “I like that! That has a good ring to it. Keep up the nasty work, boy, and make sure plenty of people learn that name. Though I’ve got to say, he’s awfully small for it!”

The tall man laughed and placing his hands to Wilhelm’s temple, but they were so large, his palm practically covered the boy’s entire head.

“What is this, a zoo?! What do you want with me?” Wilhelm swept the man’s hand aside and jumped back, fixing them both with a withering stare.

The well-built man flexed the arm Wilhelm had pushed away. “I like your spirit, talking to knights that way. Youth is the best time to be reckless.”

“The young and young at heart aren’t so different. The face may grow old, but it’s only when you age on the inside that you really regret what you’ve lost.”

“Anyone would be old compared to this kid. According to the records, he’s fifteen! How about that, Pivot? Half your age! Half your age and twice as many kills! He’s making you look bad!”

“I’m the brains of this operation. I handle everything the children can’t.” The delicate man took out a white handkerchief and dabbed at his face where some of the big man’s spittle had landed on him. Once again, the conversation had left Wilhelm behind, and this time he wasn’t feeling generous about it.

“If you don’t need me for anything, then leave me alone. I’ve got things to do, you know.”

“Oh you do, do you? We’re just holding station. What could you possibly have to do?”

“Practice with my sword. They say if you miss a day, it takes three days of effort to make it up. I’m not going to take three swings when I can kill with one. I can only take so much inefficiency,” he spat.

He was about to make for the training ground behind the barracks, when the big man burst out laughing at Wilhelm’s answer.

“You hear that, Pivot? He worked that battlefield until he collapsed, but he’s not even gonna sleep in—just go do drills with his sword!”

“Yes, I heard. I know people so young are always impetuous, but this is foolish even for a boy his age.”

Knights or not, Wilhelm couldn’t stand this ridicule. “Do you two want to see my skills firsthand?” He had two days of practice to make up.

But the big man answered Wilhelm’s glare with a roaring laugh. “Ah, just what I wanted to hear. You know, there are some stories around the knights’ unit of a kid with a sword who took some of our most embarrassing knights to school!”

The delicate man shook his head; the monocle over his eye glinted strangely. “Young or not, you share the blame. You may be exceptionally capable for your age, but you get carried away easily.”

They radiated a readiness for battle, a confidence in their abilities. It contrasted sharply with how they had been acting just a moment before. Wilhelm licked his lips.

“Was this what you wanted all along?”

“Sorry, kid,” the big man said. “Sometimes you have to do what you have to do. But don’t worry. We may rank higher than you, but we’re gonna fight fair. If there’s one thing Bordeaux Zergev never does, it’s disgrace a place of combat.”

“He’s a man of his word, so I wouldn’t be concerned. Oh, I haven’t introduced myself, have I? I’m Master Bordeaux’s minder, Pivot Anansi. Enchantée.”

Wilhelm looked at the hulking Bordeaux and the delicate Pivot in puzzlement as they introduced themselves. They were hard to read; he didn’t know what exactly they wanted, but their immediate goal was clear. It was the same thing Wilhelm wanted at that moment.

“I’ll finish you two off in a hurry and get back to my practice.”

“That depends. You might find yourself on another round of bed rest!”

Wilhelm set off down the stone path toward the training ground, and Bordeaux loped along beside him. There were practically sparks flying between them. Pivot exhaled softly and then followed behind.

2

Steel met steel with a piercing screech; he felt metal scraping against metal and saw the brief red glow of sparks in his peripheral vision. The sound came again as Wilhelm lowered himself nearly to the ground and moved forward, deflecting the battle-ax that descended over him and stepping on the haft to prevent his opponent’s next move.

There was an instant’s pause, and then a flash of silver stopped just short of a thick neck.

“I win.”

“…I wasn’t ready for that,” Bordeaux said softly.

Wilhelm, sweating profusely but wearing a warrior’s triumphant smile, lowered his sword as his hot breath escaped him in heaving gasps.

He was using a dull training blade. Bordeaux’s weapon, the long halberd currently trapped under Wilhelm’s foot, was similarly neutered. They couldn’t take a life, but both combatants were capable enough to protect themselves from the other’s blows, anyway. The battle had been intense, but neither of them had so much as a bruise. Any report on the battle would have said both fighters merited distinction.

“This means I’ve won seven and lost three. I think we’ve settled this. You were hardly worth my time.”

“I can’t even be angry! Wah-ha-ha, that’s what I get for challenging you. I give! I haven’t been beat this thoroughly in a long time. It feels good!”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Wilhelm had intended to sound spiteful, but instead he had elicited some kind of merriment. He frowned.

Bordeaux dislodged his ax from the ground and rested it on his shoulder. He ran a hand through his short pale-blue hair and said, “How about a smile? You fought me—me!—and won. I can go toe-to-toe with anyone but the royal guard. I guess those other guys you beat weren’t just slacking off.”

“I suppose not,” Pivot said, “and neither was this young man. It’s…rather terrifying to see one so skilled at fifteen.” He had been watching their duel from the sidelines.

Wilhelm had heard people say this about him many times. But Pivot’s voice lacked the awe or fear that normally accompanied this judgment. Not that Wilhelm cared either way.

“My apologies that you weren’t able to teach your lesson to such an ill-tempered child,” he said. “What will you do now? Go crying to your own superiors and get them to send better swordsmen after me?”

“I guess I could, but when you’re built like me, it would look weird to go crying to anyone except maybe the Holy Dragon Volcanica. And if I went running to the Dragon for something as minor as this, I’d probably get turned into a pile of ash!”

“Before that happens,” Pivot said, “let us tell you why we’re really here, Wilhelm Trias. We didn’t seek you out just to carry out a personal vendetta under the pretext of a contest of strength. Although, given how you acquitted yourself, I suppose our attempt at serving justice would have been moot, anyway.”

“Ouch!” Bordeaux exclaimed. “My friend isn’t very subtle, is he? Ha-ha-ha!”

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow at this inability to grasp irony. “If you didn’t come here to fight…”

“I assure you we didn’t. That was just a way of cheering you up. But, regardless, to business. Wilhelm Trias, we have a message for you. From now on, you’ll be exercising your skills in the service of Zergev Squadron, led by Bordeaux Zergev here.”

Wilhelm stared at Bordeaux with narrowed eyes. The man was the picture of a powerful knight, his barrel chest puffed out and the halberd leaning on his shoulder.

Since Wilhelm’s last unit had been destroyed, he had no objection to being assigned to a new one. “Are you sure about this, though? I’ve been in two battles so far, and in each one, everyone in my unit was killed. Do you plan on being next?” he asked, closing one eye. It was disrespectful to those who had died bravely in battle, but Bordeaux gave a solemn shake of his head.

“There were too many casualties in those last two battles—Redonas Plateau and Castour Field. Redonas was a strategic victory, at least, but Castour was inexcusable. Those kinds of losses were unprecedented. The royal army was forced to do a large-scale reorganization.”

“And I don’t believe it’s strictly accurate to say everyone in your units was killed. I’m given to understand one other young man survived. To come through all that—you two must have excellent luck. Or perhaps excellent judgment.”

The outcome of the battle was well-known, as was the state of the army afterward. Drawn in by the vanguard, the majority of the units caught in the area of effect of the demi-human magic circles had been destroyed. The only survivors were those who, like Wilhelm, had had the presence of mind to drive forward, as well as those who had been able to escape the enchantments in the chaos. A handful of immensely lucky souls had survived despite being in the thick of it.

“Meanwhile, Zergev Squadron was right up front, but every one of us came back alive,” Bordeaux said proudly.

“Your intuition saved you,” Pivot said to Wilhelm. “You may not look it, but you’re a man who can be counted on in battle. That’s why we’re not worried about you.”

It was only then that Wilhelm realized all this had been a roundabout response to his own sarcastic comment.

Apparently taking Wilhelm’s silence for doubt, Bordeaux hefted his halberd and started to expound the unit’s military exploits. “You know, it wasn’t luck that kept us alive. We broke through the enemy encirclement, cut them down even as they gloated over us—”

But Wilhelm cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, I believe you. Is that all you wanted to talk about?” Wilhelm wasn’t going to bother pretending he thought Bordeaux was making any of this up. Although the boy had ultimately been victorious in their duel, Bordeaux was the first person he had met in the capital to win even a single match against him. And he was well aware that the large man had proven himself in his share of real battles. But then, so had Wilhelm.

“If that’s all you want, then let me go back to my practice. I just have to show up at this Zergev Squadron or whatever at the barracks, right?”

“He wants to be rid of us,” Pivot said. “Yes, that’s all you have to do. Zergev Squadron is taking on you and one other new member as part of the reorganization, for a total of twenty people. You have a meeting with the captain tomorrow night. Try not to skip out.”

“Who’s the other new guy?”

“The only other survivor of your unit—Grimm Fauzen. We thought having a familiar face might help you settle in…although, having met you, I suspect we were wrong.”

Wilhelm had turned away with an expression of disinterest, already raising his sword, and Pivot gave a sigh that was half annoyance and half resignation.

Wilhelm knew the name, of course. But he hardly felt any more reaction than that. The boy, Grimm, was not someone Wilhelm was much interested in. He was a useless coward—another thing he didn’t like.

Rather rudely concluding his conversation with the two superior officers, Wilhelm threw himself into his practice. Bordeaux and Pivot watched him for a moment and exchanged a glance.

“He loves his sword every bit as much as I heard—maybe even more! He’s seven years younger than me, and he’s gonna make me look bad! I guess I need to get back to my ax training.”

“To think we would meet someone so young who would sacrifice his sleep in order to practice the sword. The world is a stranger place than I realized. All kinds come to the capital, I guess. I hope Grimm Fauzen turns out to be normal when we meet him.”

So there was Bordeaux, who had chosen a somewhat strange thing to be impressed by; Pivot, who could always find something to be anxious about; and Wilhelm, who paid no attention to either of them but single-mindedly performed his drills. It would be enough to make a bystander wonder if any member of Zergev Squadron was, in fact, sane.

3

It was several days after Wilhelm had been assigned to Zergev Squadron. On the first day, Wilhelm met the other members of his unit with his usual cold indifference. It was mostly made up of soldiers Bordeaux had recruited himself. This ensured a frosty reception for Wilhelm, who showed little respect for the squad leader. But all thoughts of personally teaching him some manners were put on hold when they heard Bordeaux’s report.

“Wilhelm is even better than me! And I’m better than all of you, so how are any of you going to give him a taste of his own medicine? Damn shame! How about a little early-morning practice?”

Indeed, starting the next day, the squadron could be found at the training ground at dawn. The talk of each day was the mock battles between Wilhelm and Bordeaux, which were so intense that someone could nearly have gotten killed.

As for Grimm, who joined the squadron at the same time as Wilhelm, he continued to get by as he had before, trying not to be notably incompetent. He was soon attached to Pivot like a shadow.

People began avoiding Wilhelm even more studiously than they had before, sometimes eyeing him as if they thought he was crazy, but the boy wasn’t interested in any of that. His previous unit had treated him like a hideous curiosity, and this one meddled with him far too much; Wilhelm found them both equally troublesome.

At heart, Wilhelm liked to do everything alone, including training. As the mock battles with Bordeaux continued, he started to see how the man breathed, what his tells were, until nearly every victory went to Wilhelm. The boy failed to see the point of training so hard against a single opponent. If they met on the battlefield, they would fight only once; there would be no second chance.

If at any time during training a soft spot developed in his heart, it would become nearly impossible to focus his entire spirit on the task at hand. More than once, he had felt the urge to cut down opponents who trained less than wholeheartedly. It was so much easier to stay utterly focused on training by himself.

“I want…to go into battle.”

It wasn’t that he wanted to kill. He didn’t seek to take life. He just wanted to use his sword. True swordsmanship could only be found in combat, in a contest where either person could lose their life at any moment.

Wilhelm spent weeks in the capital with this gloomy thought—until he was given a chance to go back to the place of that terrible defeat, and the Sword Devil crossed paths with a new enemy.

4

It was about eight hours by dragon carriage from the capital to Castour Field. Zergev Squadron split into two groups, ten people to a carriage. Between them was a third vehicle, carrying a VIP.

Bordeaux had sounded suitably excited when he described the mission to them. “You should be happy! Our valor is so valiant that we’ve been given a special assignment. We’re escorting someone important to Castour Field. This is an honor!”

Pivot, fiddling with his monocle, was left to fill in the details. “We will be escorting a specialist who is exceptionally adept at magic. Until now, our nation has had few prominent figures with much magical capability, which has been a fatal disadvantage against the mana-wielding talents of the demi-humans. We learned that the very hard way during the recent battle at Castour Field.”

“I guess they want to inspect the magic circles the enemy used to trap us,” Bordeaux said. “The circles probably aren’t active anymore, but they want to take a look for themselves. And here I thought spell casters always stayed locked up in their rooms!”

Bordeaux had chosen a somewhat odd way to express his admiration—but the even stranger thing was that Wilhelm somehow agreed with him. He had always thought those who relied on mana instead of steel were missing something from life.

The foremost carriage included Bordeaux and Pivot along with eight other squad members; the rearmost one carried ten more people, including Wilhelm and Grimm. The carriage in the middle, carrying the VIP, also had a contingent of knights from a different squadron to help keep guard.

It seemed excessive, sending this many men to look after a single person, but that only emphasized how crucial this mission was. To Wilhelm, though, neither the identity of their guest nor the details of the mission mattered much. The only thing he cared about was whether there would be anyone left on that field worth fighting. He judged that, unfortunately, it didn’t seem likely.

All this left Wilhelm on edge.

“Hey, Grimm. You don’t look so good. You all right?”

The voice brought Wilhelm back to reality, shocking him out of his mental sword practice. Across from him in the narrow carriage, he could see the pale-faced boy. Another squad member was rubbing his shoulders.

Grimm was all but white. The dragon carriage was using a wind repel blessing, which meant this was more than simple motion sickness. It was probably psychological—a personal reaction to their destination.

“I’m—I’m okay. Just…feeling a little sick. I’ll get it under control soon…”

“You sure? I don’t think doctors have discovered a cure for cowardice yet. It’s a serious illness—you think you can fix it on your own? I know it’s chronic with you.” Wilhelm broke in, angered by this attempt at false bravado.

“—” Grimm didn’t say anything at first, but an expression of pain and regret crossed his face. Then anger twisted his usually calm—which was to say, weak—features, and he glared at Wilhelm.

“You seem awfully merry. Even though you ought to know full well where we’re going.”

“What makes you think I would act anything like you? You can hardly go to the bathroom without someone there to hold your hand.”

“Our entire squad was wiped out there! Is it wrong to be upset about that?!”

“You aren’t upset about their deaths. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself. You’re happy you didn’t end up like them yesterday and scared you might end up like them tomorrow. I shouldn’t have to remind you we’ve both lost a lot of comrades. Usually the same ones.”

Their argument continued unresolved, and neither young man gave any ground.

Everyone was on edge, leaving Grimm in a worse mood than usual. As Wilhelm sat there with his beloved sword pulled close, Grimm looked nearly ready to jump on him.

“Come off it already! This time you’ve gone too far, Wilhelm!”

Their comrades’ shouts interrupted them, and the staring contest ended without coming to blows. Grimm moved so he wasn’t sitting across from Wilhelm, and Wilhelm sank back into his private world. This time, there were no more disturbances.

Thanks to the suffocating tension in the carriage, the squad members could hardly wait to arrive at their destination.

When they had set out, it was barely dawn; when the three dragon carriages finally arrived at Castour Field, the sun was at its peak.

“I know that ride was long enough to put blisters on your ass,” Bordeaux said, “but you guys are in even worse shape than I expected.”

The two groups had disembarked from their carriages and were now lined up under the inquiring glance of their commander. The difference between them was night and day. The two young men responsible for the obvious fatigue of the rear carriage were standing side by side—as the newest recruits, they had to—but they weren’t looking at each other.

“I don’t know what happened, but our work starts now. Don’t let the enemy see you tired. Straighten up!” Bordeaux barked. “We’ll be receiving our guest in a moment. Show them your best behavior!” At this, the entire troop stood up straighter, the concerns of a moment before forgotten. There was the sound of shuffling feet as the unit organized itself into two neat rows. Bordeaux gave a half nod in satisfaction, then looked at Pivot, who stood beside him.

Pivot took this cue to open the door of the middle carriage and usher the visitor onto Castour Field.

“There’s no need to make such a fuss over me. A woman can’t help but be intimidated with so maaany fierce-looking faces staring at her.” The speaker’s tone was light, and she shrugged as if making a joke.

She had indigo hair that reached to her neck and skin as fair as porcelain. The hem of her long robe hung just above the ground, the front open to reveal a generous bust barely contained within a male military uniform. In deference to the occasion, she wore minimal makeup—but this hardly kept the men from noticing her beauty. Most striking of all were her eyes, one of which was blue and one yellow.

Surprise ran through the unit; they hadn’t been told the person they were escorting was a woman. This brought a smile to her face, like a child who had pulled a prank.

“I am Roswaal J. Mathers. One of the few wizards serving at the royal court—and, as you can see, a poor, defenseless maiden. I’ll be counting on you today, boys.”

She gave an alluring smile. In that moment, Wilhelm decided that she fell into the category of things he did not like.

“Ahem,” Pivot said to the men of the unit, some of whom were still murmuring among themselves. “Now that you’ve been introduced to Miss Mathers, please remember that she is a lady. I remind all the uncouth barbarians in our unit, young and old, to mind their manners.”

 

 

 

 

“Weeell,” Roswaal interjected, “it wouldn’t do for you to be so formal that you couldn’t do your work. I was having a little fun with you by concealing my gender, but please carry on as usual. My name is the one that each head of the household inherits—it just happens to be male. Our family is raaather unique, you see.”

“You heard Lady Mathers. About your business, everyone.”

Of course, business in this case meant “taking utmost care.”

As everyone set about attending to duties, Wilhelm sensed someone in the dragon carriage. This person had been waiting for the conversation to conclude, and now slipped out and stood by Roswaal.

It was another woman. She wore light armor and had a sword at her hip. She appeared to be in her late teens; she had a pretty face, but the dangerous glint in her eye would make one hesitate to approach. Her gorgeous golden hair was cut short, and she seemed prickly. A swordswoman.

“Oh, leeet me add,” Roswaal said, “this is my personal bodyguard, Carol Remendes. She’s quite skilled, so I’m sure you’ll all get along.”

“Thank you, Lady Mathers,” the girl said, “but I wouldn’t concern myself. I doubt we’ll see them again after today. There’s no reason to get close to them—and they don’t seem like the types to get friendly.”

In complete contrast to Roswaal, Carol seemed totally humorless. Was she arrogant, or just nervous? Either way, she looked on edge.

“…What, both women?”

“You! You there!” Carol immediately singled out the source of the disbelieving whisper: Wilhelm. She looked ready to draw her sword right then and there. “Are you looking down on me because I’m a woman? That sort of prejudice carries a high price around me.”

“Oh, stop whining. You’re obviously more worried about it than anyone else here. Anyway, my job is to guard your friend there, not to make sure you feel all warm and fuzzy.”

“Th-that’s enough, Wilhelm!” As the boy and the girl glared at each other, Grimm tried with a trembling voice to control his squad mate. Wilhelm raised an eyebrow at him, but Grimm, his eyes burning with anger, said, “I don’t know what your problem is—not in the carriage, and not here. But you need to put a lid on it. Picking a fight with the people we’re supposed to be working with? Do you know how much trouble you’ll cause for our squad leader?”

The other members of the squadron fixed Wilhelm with angry stares, siding with Grimm. Between his typical behavior and the way he’d been acting that day, Wilhelm had few allies.

“…I’m sorry,” he said at length, although his face suggested it was only because he knew further argument would be useless. That seemed to placate Grimm, who turned to Carol and bowed his head.

“I’m very sorry about that. We’ll make sure he’s dealt with…”

“You do that,” Carol said. “I have no more desire to spill the kingdom’s blood unnecessarily than you do.”

She withdrew, and the tension in the air relaxed. Bordeaux, who had been watching the entire episode with a smirk, called the unit to attention.

“Right! We’re going to split up into three groups. One will accompany Lady Mathers and make sure she’s safe while she inspects the magic circle. The remaining two groups will set up a security perimeter. Watch out for looters and any demi-human stragglers. There ain’t much glory in dying here, boys, so look sharp!”

Bordeaux was just about to start assigning groups when Roswaal raised her hand. “Excuse me, Squad Leader. May I ask one thing? One small, selfish request in the assignments?”

“If I can do it, ma’am, certainly.”

“I want that little boy from earlier to be in my group.” With a smile, she pointed at none other than Wilhelm. She winked, so that only her yellow eye was watching him. “I think the outcome will be much better that way, for me and for everyone.”

All present were mystified by her request.

5

Wilhelm reflected bitterly that when Roswaal had spoken of things being better for “everyone,” this apparently had not included him.

The squadron could hardly fail to oblige a personal request from someone so important. And so Wilhelm was among those who accompanied Roswaal, as was Grimm, one of his least favorite people in the world. Two other squad members were also chosen to go with them to investigate the magic circles, which made for a unit of six if you included Roswaal and her bodyguard. The remaining two squadrons, headed up by Bordeaux and Pivot respectively, busied themselves with setting up a perimeter.

“You look like someone who looost a bet,” Roswaal said.


After minimal argument, Wilhelm had found himself at the vanguard of his group, but his perpetual pout didn’t inspire much confidence. And his job was only made more frustrating when Roswaal kept cheerily striking up a conversation with him as he tried to focus.

“Are you as eeeager as all that to cut people down?”

“Don’t talk about people like monsters. It’s not that I want to kill anyone. I want to find a worthwhile opponent to fight. And if I hadn’t had to babysit you all day, I might have actually stood a chance of doing that.”

“Some might say that answer sounds monstrous enough. Either way, the best you could’ve hoped for on security detail is a little defensive action… Somehow I doubt that would be enough for you.”

“Well, don’t you have it all figured out. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re quite direct, aaaren’t you? Well, I don’t have a problem with that.”

Roswaal put her hand to her mouth and laughed. Wilhelm could only frown.

They didn’t see anything unusual, but neither did they have anything to show for their efforts yet. The battle had reshaped the topography; trees had been felled, the green earth burned black. Broken weapons and empty armor littered the area. The war had well and truly left its mark.

“Does it hurt to look at?” Roswaal said.

“Not especially,” Wilhelm replied.

“I suppooose I’m not surprised. You don’t seem the type.”

“…Well, neither do you.”

“Goodness graaacious, you might just be one step aheeead of me.”

Maybe Roswaal disliked silence, because she seemed to interject at every opportunity. Wilhelm had already decided he would have to watch her closely. He could tell from the way Carol carried herself that she was a capable fighter, but it was Roswaal, with her unknown depths, who demanded the most caution. He had been told she was a specialist in magic, but he didn’t believe for a second that that was all there was to her.

One might have expected Carol to take more exception than anyone to Wilhelm’s curt attitude, but Grimm had been keeping her busy the entire time. Realizing that she and Wilhelm would only argue if left to their own devices, he had decided to engage her in a constant stream of conversation. The talk seemed to be going fairly smoothly, which made things easier for Wilhelm.

“So you’re saying you weren’t originally going to be on guard duty today?” Grimm was asking.

“That’s right,” Carol said. “Originally, the person I serve was going to come along as a bodyguard. But something came up, so I had to come instead. I’m afraid it’s most inconvenient for Lady Mathers.” She sounded distraught.

Grimm wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Oh, um, but I’m sure if your master had come, someone like me would only be underfoot. I’m sure that would have been even worse…”

It didn’t matter to Wilhelm. As long as Grimm kept Carol talking, that was enough. If the conversation didn’t come around to him, he had no intention of getting involved.

Only the hint of someone even more powerful than Carol caught his attention. Granted, there was a distinct possibility that Carol was speaking humbly of herself while exaggerating the abilities of her master, but still…

“I believe I heard you were called Wilhelm, isn’t that riiight?” Roswaal said.

“…Yeah, that’s right.”

“Quite a mouth you have. May I suppose you have skills to maaatch?”

“—”

“Not given to bragging? Weeell, the squad leader and his assistant didn’t hesitate to give you the most important job. It’s a sign of how much you’re truuusted. It gives me high hopes for you.”

Ignoring the silent swordsman, Roswaal nearly skipped along, fingers interlaced behind her head; she seemed ready to start humming at any moment.

Looking around, she said, “It looks like we’ll be there soon.”

As she spoke, she and her escorts arrived at the top of a hill. Below, they could see the faint outline of a geometric shape. The earth had been torn up in places, and parts of the sigil were buried, but it was the magic circle Wilhelm had seen on the day of the battle.

“Weeell now, I wonder what we’ll find?” Roswaal immediately slid down the hill to get a closer look. Carol hurried after her, and Grimm, in turn, stuck close to Carol. Wilhelm shrugged and, along with the other two squad members, kept watch from the top of the hill.

Wilhelm hadn’t sensed another living thing all day, and that didn’t change now. He didn’t know where Bordeaux and the others were, but it was nowhere nearby. So far the day had brought only boredom.

“…Now I see,” Roswaal said. “I thought this might be what was going on when I first heard about it. They took their time setting this up. It wouldn’t have been possible if both the strategist and the person who carried it out weren’t very, veeery accomplished with magic. This could be a threat to the whole kingdom.”

“Is—is it really? Are these magic circles as powerful as all that?” Grimm asked.

“The circles themselves are dangerous, of course, but what’s more threatening is the implication that the enemy has more than one highly capable maaagic user. You’d have to be a little crazy even to think of covering an entire battlefield with magic circles. But it means they could do the saaame thing elsewhere.”

“H-how…?!”

Grimm seemed more intimidated than Roswaal’s assessment warranted. He stood there quivering at a hypothetical situation. He was definitely not made for soldiering.

He kept rubbing the back of his neck and glancing around, as though he had a bad feeling he couldn’t shake. Finally, he turned and called to Wilhelm. “Wilhelm! Aren’t you getting a weird feeling?”

“No,” Wilhelm replied indifferently to the desperate boy. “Your mind is just playing tricks on y—”

As he spoke, Wilhelm let his gaze drift to the bottom of the hill—where he saw an arrow flying through the air, heading straight for where Roswaal was crouched on the ground.

“—!”

Wilhelm’s judgment was instantaneous, his action only slightly slower. He drew the sword at his hip faster than the eye could see and threw it so that it planted itself in the ground just beside Roswaal, and the blade took the arrow instead of her. The clink as the arrow bounced off the steel alerted everyone to the ambush.

But why hadn’t Wilhelm noticed anything?

He dashed down the hill, shouting, “Ambush! Everyone, at the ready!” He retrieved his sword from the earth and brought it up; in his peripheral vision, he could see Carol and Grimm readying their weapons as well. The other two squad members belatedly started making their way down the hill, but Wilhelm motioned for them to stay at the crest. Then he started scanning the area.

He saw something. “…Look there.”

Directly across from the hill, a figure with a bow was down on one knee. Unhurried, it drew another arrow and pulled back the bowstring. Then, without hesitation, it fired.

“—” Wilhelm swept away the incoming projectile with his sword, then fixed his gaze on the opponent. Beside him, Grimm apparently couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Th-Tholter…?”

The attacker was, or was once, his friend—the archer Tholter Weasily.

Now, Tholter hardly bore looking at. He was barely human. Half the flesh of his face was missing, revealing bone and one round eyeball. Pus flowed from his wounds, the raw flesh crawling with maggots. The rotting specter was covered only with bits of cloth and some broken armor. The hand gripping the bow was missing several fingers.

“Is that corpse…moving…?” Carol, her sword in front of her, had gone pale at the sight of the dead Tholter. The grotesque spectacle was only made worse by the seeming impossibility of it. Still, Carol looked to be doing better than Grimm, who was beyond pale and seemingly ready to faint clean away at any moment.

“Hey, magician,” Wilhelm said, “…is that something you can do with magic?”

“You’re awfully cooold for a man who just saw a living corpse. I gather it’s someone you know?”

“The dead don’t mean anything to me. So no, I don’t know him.”

“A laudable view. To answer your question…yes and no. This isn’t strictly the domain of maaagic. It’s a curse,” Roswaal answered with an air of self-importance.

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow at this. But there was no time to pursue the subject further. Tholter was not their only enemy.

“—”

There was a rustling sound as corpses began clawing their way up out of the earth one after another, all around them. Some were the dead of the royal army, others former demi-humans. Apparently the curse was not picky.

None of the undead warriors were in perfect condition, but they were nearly a hundred strong, which gave them the advantage. Wilhelm clicked his tongue, then had Roswaal stand in the center of their formation, with him, Carol, and Grimm surrounding her.

“Weeell, now,” she said, “this is an unexpected development. I thought you might just run off to fight them all yourself.”

“Don’t think I wouldn’t like to. But I can’t have you dying on us, either. I won’t be watching your back. Just pray those other two are useful.”

“What was that?! How dare you—!”

Grimm’s shout interrupted her. “Carol, here they come!”

The zombies leaped at them from every direction at once. A huge corpse with an enormous sword was advancing on Wilhelm, along with another body that had its arms outstretched, despite having no hands and no head. How much damage would they have to do to these corpses in order to keep them at bay?

“Whatever, it’s obvious just cutting off their heads won’t stop them.”

Wilhelm struck out with his sword, slicing the hands off the creature with the massive blade. As he brought his arm back, he cut through its belly, then swept across the groin again as the body toppled. It had been carved up into six pieces, including the two detached arms. When the pieces reached the ground, they stopped moving. Wilhelm made two diagonal cuts at the handless zombie, cutting it into four pieces; these, too, laid still.

“You just have to kill them one extra time,” he said.

“What a remaaarkable calculation,” Roswaal said behind him. He could almost hear the grin in her voice.

Wilhelm glanced over his shoulder. Carol was slicing up three undead in front of her, and Grimm was supporting her with his shield, shoring up the battle line. The two men left on top of the hill were taking care of themselves, like the members of Zergev Squadron they were, and making short work of the undead warriors around them.

The zombies were not stout fighters. However capable they might have been as soldiers in life, as corpses, none of them had much martial ability to speak of. They were simply no match for the living warriors.

“I’m only getting my blade dirty. Where’s the wizard controlling them?”

“I appreciate your trust, but I’m afraid even I’m haaaving a little trouble tracking them. But with this many zombies to handle, they can’t be far.”

“No? All right, then.”

If they kept to this battleground, soon there would be no more corpses around them. And no more corpses meant no more zombies. But Wilhelm found that deeply dissatisfying.

“—”

Fending off the attacks of the encroaching undead, he struck with his blade and returned them to the dust. The undead warriors stank of rot and shuffled with disgusting audible sloshes, but Wilhelm took careful note of their behavior.

He cut his way to the center of the horde, where two zombies stood, unmoving. The undead pressed against him, as if they were trying to protect something. But an overhead chop and two swift kicks delivered a second death. He brought his sword back and was about to stab, when—

“Hrk!”

A gout of flame spouted in front of him, forcing him to jump back. Wilhelm slashed wildly at the approaching fire until the air in front of him shimmered, and the empty space suddenly filled with a small humanoid figure.

Wilhelm’s blood ran cold as he took this in.

It was a small girl in a white robe. “…Not going the way I’d planned,” she muttered. She looked to be around ten years old—a little younger or a little older, perhaps. She had long light-pink hair and a charming face. Other than her bare feet, and the robe that was her only clothing, she looked like a perfectly ordinary, if remarkably calm, young girl.

That made it all the more unsettling to know that a horrible fiend was lurking under the girlish guise. She radiated an overwhelming heinous aura, so strong she couldn’t hide it, so strong one could detect it almost instantly.

“What—what monster is this?” Wilhelm said, almost to himself.

“Monster…? So I am indeed incomplete. I have a long way to go before I’m like my mother,” the girl whispered sadly, frowning.

This elicited an amazed reaction from someone nearby.

“Mother? Surely you jest. To think that hideous damaged goods like you share anything at all with my honored teacher. I won’t heeear of it.” Roswaal stepped forward. Her easygoing amusement was gone, replaced by a furious glare that she fixed on the little girl.

The girl, for her part, appeared puzzled by Roswaal’s anger. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

“Your doom. I will destroy you, utterly and entirely.”

“Then I’m very sorry. Especially as you seem serious.”

The girl appeared practically emotionless, in stark contrast to the building rage and increasingly dangerous glint in Roswaal’s eye. The girl took this in stride, scanning her environment and gesturing at the undead warriors.

“Happily, I was able to obtain what I came here for,” she said, “and I need not trouble myself with you any further. I’ll be going now. You have given me much to think about.” The girl bowed her head, and her body began rising up off the ground.

“Stop right there, you—!” Wilhelm dived at her, meaning to prevent her escape, but the undead warriors closed in to stop him.

“Out of my way!” He seemed caught off guard by a zombie that dodged his attack and moved to counter. It was so fast, like a different creature from the puppets of before.

He could see that all the zombies around him were moving more readily, too. Even Wilhelm couldn’t cut these things down in a single blow, and yet they still were no match for him…

“Y-yaaaarrrgh!”

“All of a sudden…there’s so many of them… I can’t hold them all…!”

He heard Grimm scream and saw that Carol, too, was wounded and moving slowly. Eventually, everyone but Wilhelm would be overwhelmed.

“We’ve reduced their numbers, but that’s probably made the rest of them more powerful. There must be one ‘core’ zombie that’s acting as a control point for all the others. If we destroy it, we might be able to turn this around.”

“How can we tell which one it is?”

“It’ll move differently. That’s the key…if you can tell.”

Thanks to Roswaal, they had a plan, but finding the core zombie in the chaos of the battlefield would not be easy. Wilhelm looked to the hill, hoping to get help from his squad mates atop it, but he found that an arrow fired with incredible force had pierced one of them at the hip and torn out a chunk of flesh.

Tholter was the culprit, as sharp with supporting fire as he had been in life. With a large body that belied his quick-wittedness, Tholter had been exceptionally distinguished as an archer in their unit, and his huge bow was capable of immense power and accuracy.

It came to Wilhelm in a flash.

The zombie whose abilities were unchanged from life—Tholter Weasily—was the control point.

“I believe we’ve chosen someone you will find difficult to kill. We’ve been watching you.” This dispassionate remark came from the girl, getting farther and farther away. But it lent credence to Wilhelm’s guess.

Grinding his teeth, Wilhelm counted how many enemies there were between him and Tholter, and then, practically afire with rage, he cut the undead warrior in front of him into four pieces.

It wouldn’t be enough. Wilhelm could reach Tholter and kill him. But while he was busy doing that, his three companions would become zombie food. There was only one way to keep the battle line intact and still stop Tholter…

“Grimm!” Wilhelm shouted. “You have to get Tholter! He’s the core!”

They were trapped at the bottom of a bowl. Out of all of them, Grimm was the least useful in battle. The deeper they went, the more enemies there would be, and losing him would have the least impact on their overall strength.

Grimm, his shield still up, looked at Tholter, then at the undead creature that had stolen his friend’s body. He shook his head again and again.

“I—I can’t do that! I can’t!”

“You go! I’ll take your place helping the girl! Get up that hill and chop off his head! He’s an archer with no one to guard him. If you can get close, you can kill him!”

“It’s not about whether I can beat him or not! You’re telling me to kill my friend!” Grimm was practically on the verge of tears even as he desperately fended off the enemy’s attacks.

Wilhelm knew Grimm and Tholter had been close. He was also aware that Grimm had been incapable of using his sword ever since the annihilation of their unit. And yet…

“Yes, I am! So what?!”

“So what? So everything! I can’t murder my friend! I… I’m not like you! I can’t do it!”

“What part of that thing is your friend? Can’t you see through your tears? Your friend is dead and gone! That thing is a corpse. It just got a little lost—it shouldn’t be here!”

Wilhelm saw Carol slip. She took a sideswipe at the zombie that was about to attack her. The pieces bounced off Grimm’s rounded back. Wilhelm gave him a shove and shouted, “‘Oh, I can’t, I can’t!’ That’s how it always is with you! You spend all your time looking for excuses! Well, if you have the energy to argue, you have the energy to go over there and kill that thing! Stop blubbering and go put an end to it!”

“—”

Wilhelm shouted his philosophy relentlessly as he felled zombie after zombie.

He sensed Grimm straightening up behind him. The boy looked at his feet and muttered, “It might be Tholter.”

“So what?! Tell me!”

“I just can’t use my sword anymore. I’m so scared.”

“So what?!”

“Everyone else died, and I lived, and I can’t stand it!”

“So what?!”

“I don’t want to die!!”

Back to back, they shouted at each other.

And then Grimm rushed forward, shield raised. Carol hurried after him to support him while Wilhelm set himself to the bloody work of protecting Roswaal.

Grimm raced up the hill, deflecting the undead warriors’ blows with his shield, reaching Tholter in one mad dash.

 

 

 

 

The massive bow let loose another arrow. Grimm blocked it with his shield, as easily as if he had seen such an attack a million times, and raising his pristine sword, he shouted.

“I’m going to live!”

And he dealt Tholter a blow that, although full of fear, nonetheless cut off his head.

So the battle ended.

6

“This’s the last oooonnne!” Bordeaux slammed his battle-ax into the undead warrior with fantastic force, reducing it to a collection of fleshy bits that in no way resembled a human body. The huge warrior heaved a sigh, resting his halberd on his shoulder and brushing off the bits of gore stuck to his armor.

“Right! Battle’s over! If you’re dead, gimme a yell!”

“That’s not possible,” Pivot replied. “Because, as I’m pleased to report, everyone is alive.”

The various groups of Zergev Squadron had managed to break through the crowd of undead and link up shortly after Grimm had destroyed Tholter. Both Wilhelm, with his incredible sword work, and Carol, who was wounded, returned safely. Even the squad member who had taken Tholter’s arrow survived. By some miracle, the squadron hadn’t lost a single person in the battle.

“My, my, myyy, what a fine display. You all saved me!”

It was sometime after the fighting ended. The squad sat on the ground as Roswaal showered praise on them.

Pivot turned to her and, adjusting his monocle, asked, “Tell us, Miss Mathers. What were those undead creatures?”

“That’s an eeexcellent question. They’re a sign that there’s more to this situation than meets the eye. I have to report back to the castle as soon as possible. We’ll have to exercise the uuutmost caution.”

“The utmost caution…?” This sounded grim. Pivot raised an eyebrow. Roswaal nodded, sending waves through her indigo hair.

“Not sure I agree,” Bordeaux said, crossing his arms. “It’s just some walking dead. What’s the danger?”

“The zombies are just a start,” Roswaal said. “The question is who’s controlling them, and who set up the magic circles. I suspect they’re the same person.”

Bordeaux, along with everyone else who didn’t know the situation, looked at her in puzzlement. Wilhelm, still holding his precious sword, frowned at Roswaal. She was wearing a smile that suggested she had an idea of who this person was, and it rubbed him the wrong way.

Roswaal either didn’t notice or ignored him. She pointed to what was left of the magic circle and said, “It was the same person who brought this kind of unusual magical ability to the Demi-human Alliance and used the curse to control the zombies. She calls herself…Sphinx. She belongs to the Witch’s legacy, you might say. That’s probably the clearest way of communicating how dangerous she is.”

Everyone, including Wilhelm, swallowed heavily at this. It confirmed that the monster—Sphinx, the remnant of the Witch—was real. The long shadow she cast over the war bogging down the royal forces and the Demi-human Alliance was no illusion.

What was more, the connection to the Witch formed there would lead the kingdom of Lugunica, Zergev Squadron, and above all Wilhelm himself to an unavoidable fate.

Wilhelm Trias, the Sword Devil, had not yet encountered his destiny. It would all start three years later, when he turned eighteen.

 



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