Re:Zero Kara Hajimeru Isekai Seikatsu (LN) - Volume EX2 - Chapter 3

THE LOVE SONG OF THE SWORD DEVIL

Third Stanza

1

The encounter with the witch on Castour Field, as well as the knowledge that she was working with the Demi-human Alliance, shocked the administrators of Lugunica.

“The situation is alaaarming. The person known as Sphinx can control the dead and use great magics long thought lost. We may face other losses like the one at Castour.”

Now the noblewoman Roswaal J. Mathers spoke in the assembly hall before a gathering of the country’s top military officials, eminent officers and Knights of the Royal Guard, as well as several of the nation’s most prominent nobles.

Even though she spoke fluently, Roswaal’s tendency to draw out her syllables in odd places remained. But nobody pointed this out; the officials listening to her never lost the somber looks on their faces.

“Sphinx?” someone said. “I’ve heard some people think she’s part of the Witch Cult.”

“Personally, I doubt it,” someone else replied. “They only follow their own desires. It’s hard to picture them working with the demi-humans to overthrow the kingdom.”

“Maybe, but I think only they really understand what they’re after.”

At the mention of the Witch Cult, the mood in the chamber turned darker still. The Witch Cult was a group that revered the Witch of Jealousy—who had nearly destroyed the world centuries ago—and sought to revive her, according to the stories, at least. Many thought, however, that this was very difficult to believe, and that the members of this cult were simply garden-variety lunatics.

Wilhelm agreed with this latter view—or more accurately, he didn’t care either way. He didn’t even really know why he was in the council chamber at that moment. Bordeaux and Pivot sat beside him, but this he could understand; they were accomplished knights and could hold their heads high in this company.

Frankly, he wished some of that confidence would rub off on Grimm.

“…Hrk…”

Where Wilhelm sat looking annoyed, Grimm was going to be sick, by all appearances. His face was colorless, his breathing uneven; it seemed that if he wasn’t careful, he might soon revisit his breakfast.

Just as Wilhelm started wondering if his face was ever a normal color, Roswaal said, “Now we’ll hear from Zergev Squadron, who were in the actual battle. If you don’t miiind, gentlemen.”

Bordeaux jumped to his feet, barking out “Yes, ma’am!” in an absurdly loud voice. An instant later, Wilhelm and the others stood, too, and all four of them were led to the center of the assembly hall.

“Bordeaux Zergev, commander of Zergev Squadron, reporting! It’s an honor to be summoned by headquarters!”

“I think your greeting was a little overdone, young sir,” Pivot said. “Ahem. Vice Commander of Zergev Squadron Pivot Anansi, reporting.” He glanced at Wilhelm. “You two, introduce yourselves.”

“G-Grimm Fauzen of Zergev Squadron, reporting!”

“…Wilhelm Trias, the same.”

Grimm’s voice squeaked, while Wilhelm’s sounded disinterested. Pivot raised an eyebrow, but the assembled officials paid this no mind. They were more interested in the soldiers’ report than their names.

“According to Lady Mathers, your unit has actual combat experience against Sphinx. She controlled the undead, used levitation magic, and inscribed the magic circles on Castour Field. What is your opinion of her?”

“Sir! I fought the moving corpses but did not personally observe the alleged witch!”

“Young sir, quiet. My apologies, sirs and madams. These two are the only members of our unit to have had direct contact with the person in question. Wilhelm, Grimm, make your report.”

“Y-yes…sir…!”

Grimm, somehow even pastier than before, stepped forward. Wilhelm had no choice but to follow him. Then the members of headquarters began bombarding them with questions. They weren’t after anything much different from what had already been said. They wanted the young soldiers to back up Roswaal’s report, as well as provide some of their own impressions.

Then came a question that was unusual in both content and the tone in which it was delivered.

“Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that this was the Witch. What did you think of her?”

The speaker, his hand still raised, was a man with delicate features set in a narrow face. Somewhere around thirty years old, perhaps, he had a pleasing appearance and well-groomed brown hair. He very much looked the part of the scholar; he seemed conspicuously out of place in the room full of grizzled military types.

“Th-think, sir?! W-well, uh… She was unsettling, and frightening… I mean—no! As a member of the royal army, I was certainly not afraid…!”

As Grimm blathered on, the questioner gave a half nod and looked at Wilhelm. Under the man’s penetrating gaze, Wilhelm’s expression hardened into seriousness for the first time since he had come to this conference hall. The expression was hardly the limp gaze of a civil official. It had turned the point of a sword on him, the aura of a devastating warrior who had decided this battlefield belonged to him.

“…Who’re you?” Wilhelm said.

Muttering burst out all over the hall. Beside him, Grimm practically stopped breathing. But it was the questioner himself who silenced this wave of discontent.

“Mm. Yes, pardon me. I am Miklotov MacMahon. I don’t ordinarily attend these meetings, but as it was I who suggested Lady Mathers should be the one to investigate the magic circles, I made sure I was invited to hear her report.”

Then the man who called himself Miklotov glanced at Roswaal. She took his cue, offering a theatrical bow. So they were friends of a sort.

Now grasping the situation, Wilhelm sighed, and answered, “That witch or whatever—she didn’t look human to me. More like a monster wearing a human skin. Can you reason with a hungry demon beast that wants you for its next meal? With her, it’s kill or be killed. Nothing else.”

Wilhelm’s blunt, uncompromising answer left the room silent for a moment. Only Miklotov, whom Wilhelm was still watching with laser-like intensity, had presence enough to nod. With an air of authority, he replied, “I see. This discussion has been most enlightening. You may all sit down.”

2

Grimm exploded the moment they got back to the barracks. “I swear! How, how can you always be this way?! You just took years off my life!”

They had been called to the assembly the moment they returned from Castour Field without so much as a moment to rest. Now they were finally free of their duties, and Wilhelm was changing out of his stiff, uncomfortable uniform, wiping the sweat and grime off his skin.

Grimm, who had also changed out of his uniform, laid into him. “How could you act like that with so many important people there?! And after Vice Captain Pivot warned us to behave so many times! You’ve broken so many—”

“How many times are you going to say ‘so many’? And don’t act so familiar with me.” Wilhelm met his spitting, shouting companion with a frosty reply. His opinion of Grimm hadn’t changed. He was a coward, and he was useless. Even if he had eventually mustered the nerve to behead his old friend.

“Aw, don’t get so worked up, Grimm! T’be honest, I think it’s reassuring. If Wilhelm were enough of an idiot to watch his tongue in that room, what would people think of me, letting him talk to me the way I do?”

“Setting aside the question of whether courtesy is due to you, young sir, surely you, Wilhelm, do have at least some idea of what constitutes propriety—don’t you?”

Bordeaux and Pivot were changing out of their uniforms, too, and joined the conversation.

“What’re you talking about?” Bordeaux asked his second-in- command.

“One can see evidence of genuine education on the fringes of Wilhelm’s conduct. It may have been piecemeal, but the ultimate result is enough to aid him in his daily life.”

“Tch.” Wilhelm gave a disgusted click of his tongue at Pivot’s unexpectedly sharp powers of observation. Grimm and Bordeaux shared a look, realizing that the sound meant the assessment was right.

“You’ve been educated, Wilhelm?” Grimm asked. “So you didn’t come from the peasantry?”

“I’ve heard the merchant class has been big on educating their children lately, giving them a leg up in life. Is that it?” Bordeaux said. “It wouldn’t be very grateful of you to waste the things you learned.”

“I recall you received formal education in manners, young sir,” Pivot retorted, “yet somehow I see no evidence of it in your daily life. I’ve always thought it rather strange.”

Wilhelm seemed to be ignoring Grimm’s surprise and Bordeaux’s self-important reply; he showed no sign of answering either of their questions. He appeared intent on avoiding any discussion of his background.

“Why so unsociable? You ought to at leeeast let your brothers in arms know about yourself. Such as the fact that you are the son of the Trias family, a regional noble house, and that your beloved sword bears the national crest of Lugunica.”

“—”

Wilhelm spun around, his eyes full of a murderous rage to hear his past disclosed so casually. He found Roswaal standing in the open door of the changing room, a smile on her face. She gave a friendly wave, coolly meeting Wilhelm’s gaze.

“It was eeeasy enough to find out… The House of Trias may be destitute, but it’s still on the noble rolls of Lugunica. Surely you diiidn’t think you were going to hide it forever?”

“If you have time to go digging up people’s pasts, you should be spending it doing your own work. I think the court is missing its jester.”

“The court jester… Ha-ha! I like it. I knew you were an iiinteresting one.” Brushing off Wilhelm’s angry outburst, Roswaal looked around the changing room. “Headquarters is treating Sphinx’s presence as a matter of the greatest possible concern. She maaay end up handled the same way as Libre Fermi and Valga Cromwell, the representatives of the Demi-human Alliance. I appreciate Lord Miklotov’s backing…although I’m not thrilled to hear her called ‘the witch.’”

Roswaal shrugged, but she couldn’t fully conceal her discontent as she finished speaking. Given the obvious displeasure in her eyes, Wilhelm was reminded of the events of Castour Field.

“Come to think of it, you seemed to know that monster,” he said. “It was like you two wanted to kill each other.”

“What’s this? Interested in me?” Roswaal said. “Well, you’re a bit young…but what does love care for such trivial things? Luckily for you, you’re quite pretty, and I’m not opposed to—kidding!”

Roswaal raised the white flag in midsentence. Wilhelm looked like he was about to leap at her with his sword.

“Sorry, but I can’t tell you how I’m connected to—you know. But I can assure you that we’re not…working together, so don’t fret about that. If you simply must know—well, maybe once we’re a liiittle closer.”

“This is as close to you as I ever want to get.”

“Oh, don’t be shy. Anyway, you’re out of luck. Given what’s happened, the person in charge of magical countermeasures for the royal army is now me. Unless the war and Sphinx come to an end much sooner than I expect, I think we are all going to be seeing an awful looot of each other.”

Roswaal seemed to enjoy delivering this unwelcome news to the frowning Wilhelm. He turned around to find Bordeaux and Pivot nodding at him, as though they had known all along.

“Zergev Squadron really showed what they were made of out there,” Roswaal said. “I assume you’ll be in high demand on the front lines from now on, turning the tide in all the most vicious battles.”

“Oh-ho! What an honor! I’ll bet our ‘Sword Devil’ Wilhelm will like that!”

Where Grimm and Pivot both sighed to hear that they would be thrown headlong into the most brutal fighting, Bordeaux seemed positively elated. He gave Wilhelm a hearty slap on the back.

Roswaal, however, looked askance at the strange nickname. “Sword Devil…?”

“Some of the jokers in the army have taken to calling him that,” Bordeaux said. “Because everyone’s heard about all the killing he did in his first couple of battles. I tried to get a nickname of my own going, you know—the Steel Ax—but somehow it’s never caught on!”

“People do have a nickname for you, young sir—they call you the Mad Dog… Er, I know you don’t like that name, so I don’t use it. Things can’t always go the way we wish.”

“Sword Devil,” Roswaal said reflectively. “Sword Devil, yeees. Indeed, I think it fits you very well.”

Wilhelm snorted and looked away from Roswaal and her coy smile. What did he care what other people called him? “Sword Devil” was a conveniently intimidating nickname.

“Don’t imaaagine we’re making fun of you,” Roswaal said. “People most wish for a hero when the tragedies of war come to them, be it a Sword Saint or a Sage…especially given that Lord Freibel, the most recent Sword Saint, died in this civil waaar.”

Wilhelm, still feigning indifference, said nothing, but Bordeaux nodded and said with pain in his eyes, “I heard he was killed fighting a defensive action against impossible odds so his forces could get away. Truly a warrior’s death.”

“Sword Saint” was the title given to the greatest swordsman to serve the kingdom of Lugunica. But if the bearer of that title had been killed, maybe his talents had not been so great after all.

“I’m going to the training ground. You can all stay here and chat as long as you like.”

“You’re going out to train?!” Grimm exclaimed. “After all we’ve—?! Ah, arrgh—! Wait, Wilhelm! I’m going, too!”

“Don’t.”

Grimm grabbed his sword and shield in a hurry to follow Wilhelm out of the changing room. Of the two of them, only Grimm executed a quick salute on his way out—a perfect summary of the difference in their personalities.

“There’s less distance between those two than there was yesterday,” Pivot commented.

“That’s because Grimm’s come out of his shell whole,” Bordeaux said. “He’s got a good look on his face now. He ain’t much for the sword, but I like the way he handles that shield. He’s going to get better and better, Grimm is.”

“You’re too quick to believe the best of everyone. People who don’t grow don’t last long in our profession.”

“Bwa-ha-ha! People are just big bunches of problems. If you can find one good thing about them, that’s enough.”

Still laughing, Bordeaux changed into a light training outfit. Pivot could only sigh. The commander grabbed the halberd he’d left leaning against the wall, then turned to Roswaal.

“Sorry we can’t show you a little more hospitality, Lady Mathers, after all you’ve done. But Zergev Squadron’s headed for the training ground. Got another busy day tomorrow.”

“I don’t miiind at all. It’s encouraging for me to see that you don’t bend for anyone. And as I said, I think we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. I certainly hope we’ll get along.”

“…As do I,” Pivot said. “I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side, Lady Mathers.”

Then he and the grinning Bordeaux left the changing room and waved good-bye to Roswaal in the hallway. Once she was out of sight, Bordeaux turned to his second-in-command.

“Wow, Pivot. A straight arrow like you, about to turn thirty… I wouldn’t have pegged Lady Mathers as your type. You dog, you!”

“Young sir,” Pivot replied, “be careful not to let Lady Mathers too much into your confidence, or your heart.”

“Hm?”

Bordeaux had only been teasing, but Pivot’s quiet reply was accompanied by a significant look.

The commander stroked his beard lazily. “I will, if you say so. But why? You think there’s something going on?”

“The woman is not easy to read. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she were up to something we know nothing about. In any event, it seems we’ll be working with her at least for the duration of the war. Watch yourself.”

“Poison with our meal, huh? That should keep things interesting. And I’ve got the Sword Devil to send into battle—a captain’s life is never boring!”

Although aware that Bordeaux’s bellowing laughter was attracting strange looks in the barracks, Pivot raised his own voice to match as he said, “My goodness… We always do draw the shortest straws, don’t we?”

3

Shamrock Valley, in the southeast of Lugunica, was foggy day and night.

Fog was considered a bad omen in every part of the world, and the craggy ravine had become a wasteland bereft of life.

That made it the perfect place for those who worked in the shadows to hide. The little hovel tucked beneath the cliff, cloaked by the mist, was one home to such lurkers.

“All right, Valga, explain to me what exactly is going on!” The demand echoed through the ravine. It was only almost shrill enough to shatter glass—but the tremendous anger in the voice would have made anyone hesitate to point that out.

“Not so loud,” said another. “The fog outside may be an ill mist that absorbs sound, but at that volume there’s no telling who might hear you.” This voice was hoarse, quiet. Its owner had his hands over his ears, obviously annoyed. But the first voice would not be placated.

“I don’t care how right you think you are! I don’t care! If you want to criticize me, first you’d better explain what exactly you think you’re doing!”

“Explain? Why should I explain anything? Have I done something wrong? Well, Libre? You haven’t done anything—so who are you to speak to me like that?!”

“Don’t push it, whelp! You’re awfully impertinent for one so young!”

Their anger had reached the boiling point. The two large participants in this argument were practically forehead to forehead, shouting. They seemed nearly ready to murder each other. An explosion appeared inevitable. But then…

“Both of you are so noisy. I need a quiet environment to conduct my experiments. And I’ve brought you both to my safe house primarily to help me with those same experiments.”

The dispassionate voice sounded like it belonged to a young girl—her words were chiding, but there was no emotion to speak of in her tone. Yet the other two ceased their argument immediately.

“I suppose we won’t solve anything with our fists. Very well, I’ll let the boy off. But you understand, there’s more to be said on this matter.” The speaker snorted. He was so tall his head nearly reached the ceiling. His preternaturally skinny body was covered in a robe, and his yellow eyes flashed weirdly. The patches of visible skin on his limbs and head were green and covered in scales, and a long, thick reptilian tail dragged along on the floor behind him. Combined with his long tongue, it left no doubt that he was a demi-human.

He was known by the name Libre Fermi, and he was one of the mainstays of the Demi-human Alliance.

“Valga, explain. The magic circles at Castour, and your little game with those corpses.”

“Just look at what it gained us. Must you question every last thing, you tiresome snake?”

The crude response to Libre’s question came from an old giant of a man trying to squeeze into a chair that was much too small for him. Standing, he probably would have been close to six and a half feet tall.

The giants were a race of demi-humans who, apart from their size, looked basically human. This man was one of the small handful still alive, and was in fact the youngest among them. Even so, he had contributed a great deal to the Demi-human Alliance, perhaps more than anyone else. It was he who had organized the demi-humans, turned them from an aimless mob into a coalition that could oppose the kingdom. His name was Valga Cromwell.

“What complaint could you possibly have about that outcome? Wait, let me guess—you think we didn’t end up with enough human corpses for all the work that went into it. I agree—I wanted to kill more of them!”

“Don’t throw your little tantrums here! I’m saying we killed too many of them! This war has already dragged on for so many years. But how do you expect the humans to even consider coming to terms after losses like that? You’ll doom us all!”

Valga’s chair clattered as he stood up. “I’ll doom us? Libre, this is a fight to extinction and always has been! I have no intention of leaving even a single human alive. I’ll pull that rotten, immoral filth up by the roots. And when they’re all dead, I’ll burn the bodies!”

“Can you stop being childish for one minute?! There are more of them than there are of us! Think about it. Even if every plan of yours works from now on, even if we inflict ten times as many losses on them as they do on us at every battle—we’ll still be destroyed first. That’s the way this fight is!”

“So, what? I should swallow my pride and give in? Here’s a question for you to think about: Can you hear them? Can you hear the wails of all our comrades who have been trodden underfoot? The cries of all our friends who have been struck down? I can hear them. Answer us, they say to me. That is the pride of a demi-human!”

“And that pride will be the death of us all! Ooh, I could just swallow you whole, you impertinent brat! Go have your glorious suicide and leave the rest of us out of it!”

“Both of you.” The cold voice came again, along with an earsplitting roar and a beam of bright light that lanced between the enraged pair, an inch from their noses as they glared daggers at each other. The light cut through the air in a way that was distinctly threatening. “I have asked you for quiet. If you refuse to accept this second warning, the third will be accompanied by a display of my power. I will happily add you both to my collection of undead warriors.”

The girl wore a white robe and had long pink hair—she was the witch Sphinx.

She held up a finger and asked them with a probing look, “Which will it be? I don’t mind either way. You both require observation.”

“I don’t like arguing with this whelp enough to become a corpse over it,” Libre muttered.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Valga growled.

This time they both tried to keep their distance from each other. Seeing the two of them thus subdued, Sphinx dropped her hand with a murmur of “Ah.” In a normal voice, she continued, “To your point, I believe my undead warriors can redress the disparity in our numbers.”

“That’s right,” Valga said. “That’s why the zombies are here, and that’s why Sphinx is here. I’m more worried about cowards like this snake. You think the zombies are some game? I assume this answers your complaints.”

“Hardly. It’s against all logic. Do you feel no shame at all putting the bodies of the dead to your own uses? I don’t expect sanity from a witch, but you’re different.” Libre’s long forked tongue slid out of his mouth. Arms crossed, he glared at Sphinx.

Valga only snorted. “I disgrace the corpses of immoral filth. Why should I feel shame? The spirits of our dead allies beg it of me. And as you say, we are the weaker race. We have to rely on our wits. There’s no law that says the weak always have to lose.”

“I will act as I see fit,” Libre said, heading for the door of the hut. Framed in the doorway, he turned, his yellow eyes narrowing at Valga. “But I say this to you, Valga. If you continue down this path, one day it will lead you to hell.”

“One day?” Valga said. “This world is already hell.”

Instead of saying good-bye, Libre merely sighed.

The reptilian demi-human left, and the tension went out of Valga’s shoulders. Suddenly Sphinx said, “If he is going to be a problem in the future, shall I eliminate him?”

“We shouldn’t do it if it’s not necessary. Libre may not think the same way I do, but the alliance needs him. The alliance looks to me as its leader, but the only way I can help anyone is with my brain. To lead the charge into the enemy ranks, cut them to pieces, and raise our troops’ morale to the utmost—for that, we need a hero like him.”

“A difficult thing. This requires careful consideration.” Sphinx paused, then said, “And what will you do next? More magic circles like the ones you used at Castour?”

Any animosity she may have felt toward Libre seemed to vanish, replaced by interest in the site of the next experiment. Ignoring the abrupt change in subject, Valga unrolled a map with his beefy hands.

“That might work if we could do it before word of the defeat at Castour spreads among the humans, but the alliance isn’t well organized enough to move that quickly. The longer we wait until the next battle, the more likely they’ll be to have developed countermeasures. I doubt the magic entrapment strategy will work again.”

“What, then?”

“Obviously. We let them destroy a magic circle,” Valga said with an evil, blood-red smile.

Sphinx had no visible reaction to this. But she glanced at the ground and murmured, “This will require observation,” so quietly that no one could hear.

4

Time passed in the blink of an eye.

Frantic activity blunted their awareness of the passing days, and the Sword Devil, Wilhelm, was no exception.

Just as Roswaal had told them after the assembly, he and the rest of Zergev Squadron were thrown again and again into the most brutal battles the royal army faced. During this time, the kingdom’s forces and the Demi-human Alliance traded successes—the royal army would triumph on a huge scale, only for the demi-humans to destroy their battle lines and take a strategic victory. On and on it went. The three people who formed the core of the Demi-human Alliance continually evaded the royal forces, and so there could be no conclusion.

Before they knew it, Wilhelm and Grimm had been in the royal army—and in Zergev Squadron—for one year. Then two.

Zergev Squadron, too, looked different now than it had when those first twenty had joined. Only about half of the original members remained, but for each one who died, several new ones came aboard, until the unit had expanded fully to one hundred members. It made them even more of a force on the battlefield than they had been before.

It mystified Wilhelm that through all these changes, Grimm somehow remained with the squadron. When they had met two years earlier, Wilhelm had been confident that he would soon see no more of Grimm, but somehow he, too, was one of the old hands of their crew, well regarded for his martial valor.

He was still all but hopeless with the sword, but even Wilhelm had to acknowledge his skill with the shield, as well as his ability to detect danger. The only people in the squadron with the reflexes to defend against one of Wilhelm’s attacks were Grimm and Bordeaux.

Grimm was also still trying to get Wilhelm to notice him, and as he persevered despite the withering remarks of the Sword Devil, some whispered that perhaps Grimm was the bravest person in the squadron.

“Well, weeell. I hear you contiiinued to gild your legend today.”

“…Keep away from me.”

“Such a very chiiilly reception. Can’t you at least pretend to be happy when a beautiful woman wants to get close to you?”

Ever since their excursion to Castour Field, the squadron had not been short on opportunities to see Roswaal. Since it was impossible to say when the demi-humans might attempt another magical strategy, it was only natural that she should be present at each battle. So it was equally natural that she frequently encountered Zergev Squadron, which was so often on the front lines.

“Lady Mathers, what a way to act. And you, aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“N-now, now, Carol. That’s just the way Wilhelm is. You can scold him all you like; he won’t change.”

Just as often as they saw Roswaal, they saw her bodyguard, Carol, glaring at them. At moments like this, Grimm was a lifesaver; he would appear out of nowhere to occupy Carol in conversation. Wilhelm would make sure the two of them were safely chatting, then lose himself once more in his own world.

“That Wilhelm ain’t changed a bit, has he?” Bordeaux said. “Then again, that’s one of his strengths!”

“Every time we go somewhere new,” Pivot replied, “I hear fresh rumors of the Sword Devil, and I swear it shortens my life. If I die young, I’m going to assume it’s his fault.”

Bordeaux and Pivot also continued observing and considering Wilhelm from a distance, just as they had before. There was, perhaps, one difference—Bordeaux’s halberd could no longer reach Wilhelm. The young swordsman remembered more clearly than he wanted to the day the difference in their abilities became unmistakable. Bordeaux had wept and laughed in equal measure, sounds that still seemed to echo in Wilhelm’s memory.

He could hardly believe that was three years ago already. Three years, and now Wilhelm was turning eighteen. Three years full of things and places and people that remained in his memory.

He wouldn’t realize until later how precious that time had been.

5

In the morning quiet, Wilhelm opened his eyes. He lay on his bed in his personal room at the barracks.

Normally, an ordinary soldier like him would have no right to individual accommodations. But he was an exception; this was one of the liberties afforded him by the kingdom in light of his astonishing record in battle. It had also been something of a desperate measure; the Sword Devil was not especially interested in awards or honors, leaving the kingdom at something of a loss as to how to compensate him.

“—”

Wilhelm yawned once, then washed his face with cold water. Chasing away the last vestiges of sleep, he quickly changed into his uniform. It wasn’t until he had everything on that he realized today was a day off for him. He didn’t need to put on his uniform.

“…Overworking, my ass.”

This “day off” was something Bordeaux and Pivot had forced upon him. He rarely took his ordinary days off, preferring to continue his training—and then, of course, there were the days they were in battle. The commanders had alleged that when the Sword Devil, one of the longest-standing members of the squadron, refused to rest, no one else could take a break, either.

With a sigh of annoyance, Wilhelm left his room still in his uniform. It would be too much trouble to change back.

He thought about heading to the training ground, then realized he couldn’t. The whole point of this day off had been to keep him away from there. But even if he stayed in his room, it was no guarantee that the increasingly bothersome Grimm wouldn’t come and find him.

So Wilhelm left the barracks, a morning chill still in the air as he headed for the castle town. He returned the guards’ salutes with a curt nod, then walked alone into the capital, where signs of human habitation had grown sparse.

The capital had gradually grown less bustling over the past three years. That suited Wilhelm well enough, but it was a sign that the civil war was becoming more of a bog every day. Battles were occurring in more places, and the effects of the kingdom’s losses were being felt more widely. Lugunica was entering a dark time.

The dragon that might have been expected to take their part in the case of an epidemic or an invasion by another country had apparently decided this was a problem for Lugunica to deal with by itself and refused to lend an ear to the entreaties of the nation’s rulers.

As the war dragged on with no sign of improving fortunes, the people grew more and more fatigued.

The area Wilhelm had come to was one of those affected by the civil war. As he left the peasant town in the middle district of the capital, he could see abandoned development projects. Supposedly, work would be resumed when the war was over, but that only meant no one knew when.

Now the area was home to jobless drifters and unemployed day laborers; even Wilhelm understood that it was a slum. That was exactly why it called to him when he was alone.

“Get lost,” he said to a group that had set themselves up in one of the abandoned buildings. They looked like trouble, but they clearly recognized that Wilhelm would be even more trouble and made themselves scarce. Wilhelm snorted, then headed for the plaza he normally used.

This public square in the farthest reaches of the poor district was large and quiet enough to be perfect for his personal training. Everyone at the military training ground was so far behind him that these days he preferred to use this place almost exclusively.

Wilhelm had never needed others for his practice. He found the idea of crossing swords with the same opponent over and over practically disgraceful in the face of a real battle, where any fight would be settled once and once only.

Therefore, for Wilhelm, training with the sword was a battle against himself. This was not code for self-denial but a literal fight to the death with his own self. It was in this kind of training that the Sword Devil, Wilhelm, was most at peace.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Someone addressed him suddenly as he passed the abandoned works and arrived at the square. This was supposed to be the time when he was settling into his own world, losing himself in the sword—to have an alien presence there disrupted the process. Wilhelm clicked his tongue with regret and turned in annoyance to the source of the voice.

It was a girl with long red hair, her profile beautiful enough to send shivers down his spine.

Her hair looked like licking flames, and her eyes were the blue of a clear sky. Her neat features gave her sweetness and grace; Wilhelm doubted if she were even human.

But an instant later, she was only a village girl with a noticeable but not stunning beauty.

She sat in some abandoned building project in one corner of the plaza, looking at him.

“I didn’t realize anyone else came here so early in the day,” she said with a smile.

“—”

Wilhelm’s response was simple—he immediately turned the full force of his warrior’s glare on her. It was the same thing he had done to drive off the drifters earlier. It would send an amateur running for the hills and was enough to give even an experienced opponent pause.

But it was the wrong move against this girl.

“What’s wrong…? You’re making such a scary face,” she asked, as if all the force of his spirit were nothing more than a passing breeze.

Wilhelm realized his attempt to drive the girl away hadn’t worked, and he looked away awkwardly. If his display of spirit as a soldier didn’t affect her, that meant she was entirely unfamiliar with the arts of war, such that she didn’t even sense what he was doing.

For those who never lived in the world of violence, Wilhelm’s behavior would seem like nothing more than intimidation. Some might even take it for a simple dirty look. This girl, it seemed, was one such person.

“What’s a girl doing in a place like this so early in the morning, anyway?” Wilhelm asked.

By this, he meant her to understand that she was in his way, but she only replied “Hmm,” and gave a great stretch. “I’d sort of like to ask you the same question, but maybe it wouldn’t be very polite. You don’t look like you’re much for jokes.”

“There’s a lot of dangerous people around here. It’s not somewhere a woman should be walking alone.”

“Goodness, are you worried about me?”

“I might be one of those dangerous people.”

“You’re not. I know that uniform—you’re one of the castle soldiers, aren’t you? You wouldn’t do anything wrong.”

This was what he got for thoughtlessly putting on his uniform and then not bothering to change again before he went out. His usual approach wasn’t working. Seeing that he was disoriented, the girl giggled.

“To be honest, I am a little surprised. I thought this was my private place. It’s nice, isn’t it? It’s a bit of a walk, but you can be alone.”

“Until someone shows up and intrudes on you.”

“I guess we’re both intruding on each other, so it’s all right. Sneaking off duty, Mr. Bad Soldier?”

“I’m sure not,” Wilhelm said.

“Of course you’re not. I’ll keep your secret,” the girl said, ignoring his excuse. “Oh, that’s right.” She pointed to something across from where she was sitting in the abandoned building. “Look here.”

Wilhelm frowned, unable to see anything from where he was. This caused the girl to smile and beckon to him with a gesture like a small animal.

“I’m not that eager to see it,” he growled.

“Now, now, just come over here.”

Wilhelm grimaced at her tone—she sounded like she was talking to a child—but he duly went over to her. He came up onto the steps of the abandoned building and looked where she was pointing.

He caught his breath. A field of yellow flowers spread out before him, lit by the blaze of the morning sun.

She spoke to the speechless Wilhelm as if she were confessing a secret. “They stopped working here, right? I didn’t think anyone else would come, so I planted some seeds. I came back today to see how they were coming along.”

It was not appreciation for beautiful flowers that caused the unexpected sights to strike Wilhelm dumb. He simply couldn’t believe his own obliviousness. He had been here so many times, yet he had completely failed to notice this unique feature. It was a world he could have noticed, if he had only stretched out, widened his perspective a little bit…

“Do you like flowers?” the girl asked the still-silent Wilhelm.

He turned to consider her gentle smile, saying…

“No. I can’t stand them.”

And he watched as the happiness drained from her face entirely.

6

“Looks like you’re keeping busy on your days off, Wilhelm. You’re never in your room when I stop by. Off killing people somewhere?”

“I’m not busy… And I’m not killing people, either.”

“Sure. You look unhappy enough about it that I think you’re telling the truth. Sounds like you’re having some nice, quiet days off,” Grimm quipped easily, dressed in his soldier’s uniform as he climbed out of the dragon carriage. Wilhelm turned up his nose in an attempt to make his annoyance apparent, but Grimm hardly noticed, still all smiles. Somehow that irritated Wilhelm even more.

The ranks of Zergev Squadron had grown, but Wilhelm was treated with just as much awe as ever. Bordeaux and Grimm had known him for so long now, though, that these episodes of personal chatter were growing more frequent.

Remaining studiously silent, Wilhelm thought about the “days off” that Grimm had mentioned. It had been several weeks since Bordeaux and Pivot had foisted a vacation on him and he had first met the girl. He still didn’t know her name—he thought of her as Flower Girl—but they had run into each other several more times since then.

Wilhelm was surprised to find that, although he didn’t go to the plaza on any kind of regular schedule, whenever he did go there, Flower Girl would be sitting in front of her flowers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She would continue to sit there, watching idly as Wilhelm practiced his sword. It was frustrating to have her staring at him, but far better than if she were to chase him away.

When she had first asked him what he thought of her flower garden, and he had given her a cruel reply, she had driven him away with enough anger to rival a storm. Even now, Wilhelm couldn’t believe he had lost that encounter.

But there was something else he found even more perplexing. Every time, when he was finished with his practice, she would smilingly ask him, “Do you like flowers?”

She knew the answer wouldn’t change, yet she asked him every time.

“No. I can’t stand them,” he would reply with a look of utter distaste. It had practically become a ritual.

“All right, we’re heading south! That’s where the battle is most intense right now! Libre Fermi and Valga Cromwell are both there. It’s the perfect opportunity for us to make major gains!”

This enthusiastic shouting brought him back from his thoughts.

Up front stood Bordeaux, battle-ax raised, drumming up the morale of his troops just like a real commander. As the size of his unit increased, he had become less and less able to do things by the seat of his pants the way he used to, but it also revealed in him an unexpected talent for leadership. Zergev Squadron had only become more and more effective in battle.

Then again, more success meant more anxiety for Vice Commander Pivot. “However, our role today is not to assault the main enemy encampment. We’ll be a floating unit—keeping an eye on the situation and moving in to help where necessary. Be careful not to get too excited and end up acting alone somewhere.”

The field of battle this time was to be Aihiya Swamp in the south of Lugunica. The civil war had gripped the entire kingdom, but demi-human resistance was said to be strongest in the south. Reports were that the leading figures of the Demi-human Alliance had gone there to support the resistance effort, and so the kingdom’s forces conceived a large-scale strategy, of which Zergev Squadron was to be a part.

“We’ve got a huge attacking force,” Grimm said. “Maybe we can finally end this war…”

“Always the optimist, aren’t you?” Wilhelm said dismissively. “I think committing a major force when we know the enemy leaders are there is begging for trouble.”

Grimm looked somewhat annoyed, but he soon grasped what Wilhelm was saying. He scratched the back of his own head.

“You’re…thinking of Castour Field?”

“Valga Cromwell was there that day, too. And given the presence of the magic circles, I would assume the witch was as well. They’re waiting for us, and we’re going to throw more men at them here then we did at Castour. What do you think’s going to happen?”

Grimm swallowed, and he thought it sounded very loud. None of the soldiers around them seemed the least bit anxious as they awaited the order to move out. Maybe they were right to keep up their confidence, their lust for battle.

But if they died in vain, it would be…well, meaningless.

“I have to assume our commanders have at least thought of that possibility,” Wilhelm said.

“Wha…?”

“I should certainly thiiink so. Your face just now, Grimm, it was a maaasterpiece.”

A familiar female voice answered Grimm’s dumb half question. The two men turned and saw Roswaal, a woman whose breezy disposition never changed, even on the battlefield. She flung back the cape she wore over her military uniform and stretched as if to show off her shapely chest.

“The VIPs are just as confident as you that Sphinx is likely to be operating here. We’ve taken as many of theirs with the sword as they have ours with magic. We think they’ll have to reach their limit sooner or later.”

“Y-you always seem so calm, Lady Mathers,” Grimm said.

“Oh, you’re making me blush. And if I’m here, that meeeans your little princess is, too.”

She gave him a meaningful smile. Roswaal’s bodyguard, Carol, came walking up behind her. As ever, she was wearing knight’s armor and a sword at her hip, neither of which flattered her as a woman. Her golden hair had only grown a little over the last three years. But there were some noticeable changes in her and in the smiling Grimm.

“Grimm,” Carol said, “I’m glad I got a chance to talk to you before the battle starts. I was worried that Lady Roswaal might be threatened if the fighting got too intense…”

“I—I’m glad, too!” Grimm replied. “With you behind me, uh—right! I know I won’t have to worry about the enemy getting at my back!”

“I’m stronger than you, you know. I don’t take kindly to people who look down on me…”

“I—I—I—I d-d-didn’t mean to—!”

“I’m kidding. I’m glad that you’re glad.”

Grimm and Carol gradually became lost in their own world, completely ignoring the other two. When she tired of watching them, Roswaal jabbed Wilhelm with her elbow.

“How do you feel? Hooow do you feel right now? Your friend getting all cozy with a girl, a love forged in the heat of battle…”

“I think it’s stupid. And don’t act like he and I are so close. I don’t need friends.”

“I see. Whaaat a very lonely thought. Interested in flirting with me, then?”

“I’ll cut you in half.”

Practically before Wilhelm was finished speaking, Roswaal had taken a big step back to a safe distance.

They were waiting to go into battle, but he couldn’t even get everyone to leave him alone long enough for him to concentrate and prepare. He didn’t even manage a sigh when Carol gave Grimm some kind of protective charm.

“Regardless, let us worry about Sphinx,” Roswaal said. “You just have fun chopping up every bad guy you can see.”

“That’s my plan. Try not to screw up your part.”

“Aww, are you wooorried about me?”

“I’m worried about you getting in my way.”

Roswaal looked like she might pout at the chilly reply, but Wilhelm rattled the scabbard of his sword and sent her scurrying back.

At a pause in the conversation, a voice called, “Is Lady Mathers here? The commander wants to speak with her.”

“C-Commander! The, uh, the lady is over there, sir.”

The wall of soldiers parted, and Bordeaux’s hulking form could be seen. Grimm quickly broke off whatever he was saying to Carol and pointed at Roswaal, who waved affably. Bordeaux nodded.

“Lord Lyp, sir!” the captain exclaimed. “Lady Mathers is over here! If you’ll come this way, sir!”

A gloomy-sounding man replied, “…You don’t have to shout, I can hear you. If you insist on saying everything at the top of your lungs, people are going to think you don’t have any other talents.” He made his way over—Bordeaux was hard to miss. The newcomer was a knight of around thirty years old, though he looked haggard.

The knight stood before Roswaal and offered a flowing bow. “Lyp Bariel, at your service. Viscount of the south and commander of the battle line on this occasion.”

“Oh? From what I’d heard, Lord Crumère was going to command.”

“Lord Crumère was hit by a stray arrow in a recent battle. The wound festered, and he died. I apologize that we weren’t able to notify you sooner. I am commander now by virtue of my rank and my military achievements.”

His voice was even, and there was no change in his expression. Yet something in his voice indicated there was more below the surface.

Lyp Bariel was his superior’s superior, but Wilhelm didn’t like the feeling he got from him. Wilhelm looked away from Lyp and toward the enemy lines.

“You there, soldier, straighten up.”

“…Who, me?” Wilhelm asked.

“I won’t say it again.” Lyp walked up to Wilhelm and began shaking his fist in his face. The instant he made the gesture, Wilhelm began to reach for his sword—but stopped.

At the same moment, he felt an impact on his cheek; his upper body turned with the force.

“It is your duty to be at attention and paying attention when your commander is present—to say nothing of a general. Maybe all the accolades this unit has received have gone to your head, but you won’t get any special treatment from me. I don’t care if you’re the Sword Devil himself.”

“—”

“You’ve got a rebellious look in your eye, boy. Maybe I’d better impose a little discipline before this battle starts.”

Wilhelm spat out the blood that had pooled in his mouth and glared at Lyp, who only smiled sadistically.

That meant more corporal punishment, and as the highest-ranking person there, no one could stop him.

“Don’t you think thaaat’s about enough? This is no time to be plaaaying with children.”

No one except Roswaal J. Mathers, who stood outside the system of military ranks and rules.

Roswaal smiled at Lyp, gently pushing down his fist, which he had raised to strike again. Lyp gave a quiet snort, turning away from Wilhelm.

“Bordeaux, teach your men a little respect, or I might have to take their impertinence out on you. The southern front isn’t a playground for children.”

“…Yes, sir. My apologies, sir.”

“Lady Mathers! I wish to consult with you before the battle starts. If you’d come with me?”

After he had reprimanded Bordeaux, Lyp seemed to lose interest in the unit. Roswaal responded to his summons with an obedient “Coming.” Carol kept shooting worried glances over her shoulder as they left.

As Lyp vanished from view, the soldiers relaxed.

“A-are you all right, Wilhelm?” Grimm asked, coming over and examining Wilhelm’s cheek where he’d been struck.

“It’s not a big deal. He just hit me. Don’t look so worried.”

“I’m not worried about him hitting you. I’m just surprised you didn’t chop his head off when he did. Are you feeling okay? Maybe you ought to take today—yikes! I’m sorry!” Grimm’s lighthearted tone changed quickly when he found Wilhelm’s sword at his neck.

As Wilhelm sheathed his blade, Bordeaux nodded to him with a look of pity. “Sorry ’bout that, Wilhelm. You were just unlucky.”

“Don’t all crowd around. I keep telling you, it’s not a big deal.” Wilhelm waved away his encroaching fellow soldiers with one hand while wiping vigorously with his sleeve at the bruise on his cheek.

“Are we sure this guy should be leading us?” Grimm said. “He’s like a soldier’s nightmare of a bad commander.”

“Believe it or not, Lyp Bariel actually has a fair amount of military success to his name,” Bordeaux said. “He may not be the easiest guy to get along with, but… Well, who doesn’t want to follow a winner?”

Grimm looked doubtful about this, and Wilhelm decided his initial judgment of Lyp had been correct. The way the commander had moved when he struck Wilhelm—he was clearly a powerful man of war. He had the distinctive strength of someone who had trained himself thoroughly and supplemented this with repeated survival on the battlefield. He might just rival Bordeaux in a toe-to-toe fight. Grimm he would overwhelm, no question.

“There’s no end of ugly rumors about him,” Bordeaux was saying, “and he won’t hesitate to fight dirty. But there’s no question he’s a capable commander. So much so that they gave him command of the first of the four armies formed by the recent reorganization. So relax! You’re in good hands.” Then he gave a great guffaw, back to his usual humor.

“R-right, sir,” Grimm said, then muttered, “I better ask this charm Carol gave me for more luck…” He held the charm in his hand and murmured a prayer.

A glance showed that Carol had given him a pendant—a locket with something inside.

“A present from a girl, huh? Color me impressed, kid. What’s in it?”

“Um, I gather Carol got it from whoever it is she serves. Inside is…a flower, I think? A pressed flower. It’s so yellow and elegant, which kind of seems like it would suit her—”

Grimm waxed maudlin as he showed the locket to Bordeaux. As he did so, Wilhelm was startled when he caught a glimpse of the flower inside.

It was, without a doubt, the same kind of yellow blossom as those attended by the girl in the poor district.

“We’re about to go into combat, here. What is wrong with everyone…?”

His concentration was ruined. Were they specifically trying to throw him off? He pushed down his explosive rage and tried once more to collect himself, when—

“Zergev Squadron, form up. We’re going to meet with the other squadrons to discuss positioning, so… Is something wrong, Wilhelm?”

“Nothing at all!”

—to top it all off, Pivot showed up, forcing him to postpone his meditations once again.

“Damn it all,” he muttered. “If this goes wrong, don’t blame me…!”

Swept up in the flow of soldiers marching out, Wilhelm looked up at the sky with distaste. Night was ending; dawn would soon arrive. The operation would begin first thing in the morning, hardly a few hours from now. Wilhelm always strove to become one with his sword and not let unnecessary things interfere. But now he was walking into the jaws of combat without his focus.

Many destinies would be decided at Aihiya Swamp. The battle loomed over them all as they marched.