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THE LOVE SONG OF THE SWORD DEVIL

Sixth Stanza

1

A mass uprising of the demi-humans all throughout the kingdom engulfed the nation in the fires of war.

The royal army, still reeling from their earlier losses, was put on the defensive by the armed uprising of demi-humans and the mass of undead warriors who accompanied them. As casualty reports flooded in, army headquarters was thrown into chaos, and the defense of each region was left to those in charge on the ground.

“That’s the general gist of what I’m hearing, anyway, but I haven’t gotten any details,” Bordeaux said quietly. “If they had put us out there somewhere, we might at least have been able to help prevent some casualties.”

Zergev Squadron, fully armored, was gathered at a guard station. The members present were the newcomers, the ones who had helped fill out the squadron after its old cohort had been so cruelly reduced. With the reorganization ongoing, official reassignment papers hadn’t yet been issued, but everyone he had spoken to ahead of time had come. Among them, of course, were Grimm, now out of the hospital, and Wilhelm.

“Grimm!” Bordeaux said. “You might’ve lost your voice, but I hope you can still fight like you used to! This is your chance to show us what you’ve got.”

Grimm could say nothing to this attempt to inspire morale, but he pounded his shield in response. Bordeaux nodded at the display of spirit, then gazed out of the guard station. “I expect we’ll be dispatched to the nearest battlefield soon. Frankly, I’d like to rush out there right now, but it’s worth remembering that the bigger they get, the slower they are.”

As Bordeaux counseled patience, Wilhelm was silently readying himself for battle. He would meet the oncoming fight with the overwhelming spirit of the Sword Devil. On the field, in the midst of a life-and-death struggle—he could forget the confusion he felt about fields of flowers. Where the sparks of life flew in sprays of blood, his spirit could give itself wholly to the sword, and he didn’t need to feel lost…

“An armed uprising, though,” Bordeaux said dispassionately, still looking out the window. “That’s a bold move. Valga Cromwell came up with it, I’m sure, but I have to admire how he was able to get all the demi-humans in on it.” He ran a hand through his short hair and frowned grimly. “But unfortunately for him, the capital was too vigilant for his plan to work here. The rest of the country may be burning, but he missed the most important part. I guess that’s all you can expect from a bunch of stupid savages.”

His words reflected more than a little of his personal animus, but Wilhelm largely agreed with him. Rebellions had occurred all over the nation, but the capital alone was untouched.

Wilhelm had spent several years in the capital now, even if he hadn’t especially wanted to. He didn’t want to see the city turned into a battlefield, nor did he desire all the casualties that would result. Including Theresia and her field of flowers…

“Wait.” This felt wrong to Wilhelm. And not in the depths of his heart as Theresia had revealed to him. Something was off. And one word Bordeaux had used brought it together.

“Burning…?”

Wilhelm had heard something very similar recently. He wracked his memory, trying to recall when it had been—then bolted immediately to his feet.

Soon tongues of flame will lick the whole nation… Even the capital will not escape destruction.

The words belonged to one of the demi-human vandals he had apprehended. Of course, they could be dismissed as bravado—but it had also described Valga Cromwell’s plan.

The capital was a volatile place. Wilhelm knew that from his time with the local constabulary. Would Valga ignore his potential allies here and leave the capital out of his plans?

It’s not possible. He wouldn’t forget this city.

Which had to mean the uprisings were—

“Bordeaux! All these uprisings are just a diversion! The real target is the capital—the royal castle!”

“What?!”

After Wilhelm’s intuition led him to the answer, he ran up to Bordeaux, his voice ragged. A dark look came across his commander’s craggy face.

It angered him, but he was sure. He knew the enemy would seek the royal forces’ most vital point.

“Think back to Castour and Aihiya! The battles where the royal forces suffered their worst losses! Both times, we went for the obvious bait and fell right into Valga Cromwell’s traps!”

“And that makes you think these uprisings are a decoy, while the real aim is the heart of the kingdom?”

“Yes! You know this, Bordeaux! We dispatch soldiers from the capital to put down the rebellions, then they concentrate their forces on the undefended capital. They’ll conquer the kingdom!”

Depending on how things went, the choice the squadron made now could determine the future of the Dragonfriend Kingdom of Lugunica. They had no sure proof, but Wilhelm trusted his instincts. If he hadn’t trusted those same instincts on the battlefield, he would never have survived to see this day.

“Hmm.” Bordeaux crossed his arms and assumed a look of deep contemplation. Wilhelm could only grind his teeth.

The same thing had happened before. At the Battle of Castour Field, when they had encountered the first magic circles and had been trying to decide what to do with them, Wilhelm had urged the captain then to push forward. He had said it was the only way to survive. But his opinion had been overruled, and he and Grimm had ended up the last living members of their unit.

The same thing was happening again now. If Bordeaux wouldn’t listen to him, then even if Wilhelm had to go alone, he would—

Someone patted the increasingly agitated Wilhelm on the shoulder. He turned around to see Grimm nodding at him and raising his hand to Bordeaux.

The commander noticed the gesture. He stared at Wilhelm and Grimm. Then he gave a deep nod, and a wide grin, the first they’d seen in a long time, came over his face.

“Well, how about that? Leaving Zergev Squadron to stew in the capital might turn out to be headquarters’ smartest move! Now things are getting interesting!”

Bordeaux slammed the butt of his halberd against the floor. The metallic noise rang throughout the guard station, and all the members of Zergev Squadron responded with one voice. “Yeeeaaahhhh!”

In an instant, everyone was eager for battle, the room shaking with their cry. The noise surrounded Wilhelm, but he wasn’t caught up in it. Bordeaux, resting his halberd on his shoulder, grinned at the swordsman.

“What’s wrong, Captain Killer? You don’t look yourself.”

“We’ve got no proof. You’re going to trust me?”

“The final decision is mine, and I’m not going to let anyone stop me. Plus…my instincts agree with yours. Let’s shred this demi-human plan—call it a parting gift to Pivot and the others!”

Bordeaux gave Wilhelm a shove in the chest; Wilhelm stumbled backward until Grimm caught him. The silent shield bearer smiled at him in a way that seemed to ask, How about that? Wilhelm waved him away.

“All right, here we go! Zergev Squadron is the sword of the kingdom! That makes it our duty to bring justice to any barbarians who would go against the flag of our nation! Anyone disagree? Anyone object?”

“No! No one! How could we?”

Bordeaux gave a shout, raising his battle-ax, and the soldiers shouted back. Their leader listened to them with satisfaction, then turned to Wilhelm again.

“Wilhelm! Wilhelm Trias, the Sword Devil! The enemy is after—?”

“What else?” Wilhelm answered. “The castle—the royal castle of Lugunica!”

Bordeaux pointed his ax at the distant castle. Then he sucked in a breath and howled like an animal. “The enemy is closing in on the castle! Zergev Squadron, move out!”

2

As Zergev Squadron approached the castle ready for battle, the castle’s defenders prepared themselves to die. They were sure the murderous-looking mass of soldiers approaching them was an enemy contingent bent on their destruction.

“What? What’s this?! Is this how defenders of the realm comport themselves?!” a knight shouted at the trembling men. The cruel-looking knight stared down the onrushing squadron, then gave a disdainful click of his tongue.

“Well, if it isn’t that idiotic stray… Halt where you are, Bordeaux Zergev!”

“Is that Lord Lyp Bariel?” Bordeaux called back, gaping at the man who stood in the midst of the defending soldiers. It was the viscount, the same knight they had encountered at Aihiya Swamp.

Zergev Squadron came to a standstill. Lyp moved to stand in front of Bordeaux.

“Don’t you know we’re at war, Bordeaux? What do you think you’re doing?! The kingdom is in crisis, and you’re playing pranks? This is practically rebellion!”

“I apologize for startling you all. But we aren’t here on a friendly visit. Time is of the essence—the fate of the kingdom hangs in the balance!”

“Oh, it does, does it?”

Lyp frowned at Bordeaux’s declaration. Then someone stepped forward out of the battle-ready crowd to stand beside Bordeaux. It was Wilhelm. Lyp looked at the young man who radiated a swordsman’s aura, clearly displeased.

“You again, Sword Devil.”

“Call me what you like. I have no time to argue with you. The enemy is targeting this castle.”

“You mean to say the armed uprisings are a diversion? Do you have any proof?”

Lyp was nothing if not intelligent. From Wilhelm’s curt remark, he had guessed what the demi-humans were really up to. But the only way they could respond to his request for certainty was with a shake of their heads.

“So on the basis of an educated guess, you descend upon the castle like an avalanche?” Lyp said. “I request you withdraw, Zergev Squadron. At present, the defense of this castle is my responsibility.”

“Valga, Libre, and Sphinx,” Wilhelm said. “You mean to take them all on yourself? You must be pretty confident.”

“Again? How many times must I tell you not to talk back to your superiors!”

With a sharp tsk, Lyp lashed out at Wilhelm with his metal gauntlet. But whereas the blow had landed at Aihiya Swamp, this time Wilhelm simply turned his head and avoided it easily.

“Who gave you permission to dodge me—?”

“At Aihiya, you were my commanding officer, but not now. You have no reason to strike me and no reason to stop us. If you get in our way, we’ll just push past you.”

Wilhelm rattled the hilt of his sword pointedly. The other castle guards cowered at his spirit, which hit them almost like a physical force. Even Lyp looked somewhat cowed for once. The situation seemed set to explode at any moment.

“Weeell, then,” a new voice said. “How about an order from me? I rank higher than any of you. I officially command Zergev Squadron to join in the castle’s defense.”

The woman’s voice came from the direction of the castle. The collective gaze turned to see two figures approaching—Roswaal, dressed in her military outfit, and her attendant Carol.

“Roswaal J. Mathers…!” Lyp gasped.

“So we have the war’s anti-magic specialist—that’s me—and a self-indulgent gate guard—that’s you. Shaaall we compare our positions to see which of us ranks higher in your precious chain of command?”

Lyp ground his teeth angrily, but Roswaal only shrugged. What she was saying was completely true, and the reality was as pitiless as a snake. As much as he hated it, Lyp could only shut his mouth.

“Ohhh, don’t be like that. All isn’t lost. Being here today may yet give you your chance to bring honor and glory to your name. Consider all the possibilities.” Her words weren’t much consolation, but they effectively took Lyp out of the equation.

Then Roswaal spotted Wilhelm. She brushed her hair back behind her shoulders, smiling sweetly. “I kneeew you’d be here. It was the right choice to focus on all of you—well, on you specifically—at Castour.”

“I still don’t understand a word you’re saying,” Wilhelm said. “But we can come into the castle, right?”

“You could at leeeast learn how to talk to a woman. Of course you can come in.”

Wilhelm told her, as bluntly as always, that he had no interest in lengthy talk. Then he turned to Bordeaux. The man known as the Mad Dog nodded gravely.

“Aaall right, then! Zergev Squadron will now enter the castle! Make sure we reinforce all the crucial points in the building! We’ll split into ten groups, just as we planned.” He pounded the ground with the butt of his battle-ax, and Zergev Squadron separated into ten groups. They would shortly assume their assigned roles and set themselves to the complete defense of the castle.

“Lord Lyp,” Bordeaux said, “you stay here. Zergev Squadron will patrol the inside. Make sure you don’t let any demi-humans inside the gate.”

“—! I know my business! We wouldn’t let a fly in here. Now get lost, you pack of mongrels!” The viscount was not a very gracious loser. Nonetheless, Wilhelm and the others trooped into the castle. Roswaal came trotting behind them with obvious interest.

“The unit’s split into groups,” she said. “Can I assuuume you will act on your own regardless?”

“You’ve got Grimm to keep an eye on you,” Wilhelm said. “You’d only be trouble, anyway.” He spared a backward glance. It was an act of kindness on his part toward the wordless Grimm, who walked alongside Carol. Apparently, they were capable of having a conversation when only one of them could actually talk. Wilhelm scoffed a little at that.

As the members of Zergev Squadron walked through the castle, they found hallways silent and rooms abandoned. “Looks like you’re short on soldiers,” Wilhelm muttered. This was the first time he had been in the royal castle of Lugunica since he had been invited to the meeting at general headquarters. That day, the castle had been stuffed with more people than it needed, but now it was practically empty.

“After the losses at Aihiya, the command staff has been dispatched to battle lines all over the country,” Roswaal said. “And His Majesty personally ordered that troops be sent where the impact of the rebellions is greatest.”

“But that’s—”

“A royal command is nooot something you can ignore. Not eeeven if it plays into the enemy’s hands.”

Lugunica’s royal family were a sympathetic lot, but they were figureheads unsuited to national government. So much was widely rumored—and it seemed there was some basis for it.

“So there’s no one protecting the castle?”

“A minimal contingent of the royal guard and defense units like Lord Lyp’s. That’s about it, I suppose. I admire His Majesty’s refuuusal to prioritize his own safety, but it’s just a sliiight problem when he occupies the most crucial building in the nation. Perhaps it’s time to start praying to the Dragon for the kingdom’s peace.”

“I might admire your patriotism if you didn’t end by saying we need to beg for help. But—wait.”

Wilhelm’s intuition was nagging at him again. If the demi-humans were after the castle, then their ultimate goal would be the heart of the kingdom—the king himself. And after causing the uprisings, they had a sure way of capturing their target. There was one place the king of the Dragonfriend Kingdom of Lugunica was certain to go when his country was in dire straits.

It was almost as if Valga Cromwell was inviting him there.

Bordeaux was heading upstairs. “Wilhelm! I’m going to go protect His Majesty! The throne room—”

Wilhelm cut him off with his own view of things. “Bordeaux! I’m going to the chapel! Objections?!”

Bordeaux looked startled at the way everything about Wilhelm suggested that he was going to follow his own instincts, but then he grinned.

“None at all! Whatever happens, just don’t forget what Zergev Squadron stands for!”

“You know I never gave a damn about that.”

“Then we should ask Grimm. Grimm! Don’t let Wilhelm out of your sight!”

The vigorous pounding of a shield came in answer. Wilhelm frowned. Bordeaux hefted his battle-ax, wished them luck, and rushed off.

“What are you going to do?” Wilhelm asked Roswaal, who apparently intended to follow him down to the castle’s basement chapel. “Why are you with us, anyway?”

Roswaal winked. “I have my own objective. Wheeether it will show up here is a biiig gamble, but I think I’ll trust the judgment of the man I’m head over heels for.”

Grimm and Carol exchanged astonished looks at Roswaal’s teasing words. But Wilhelm, the man in question, only gave a thoroughly exasperated cluck and shifted away from Roswaal.

“Don’t come whining to me if you get killed,” he said. “I’m not nice enough to be looking behind me while I’m trying to fight.”

“…I think you’ve changed, though. You wouldn’t have said that befooore.”

“Me? Changed? Even if I have—”

Even if he had, it was only to advance along the path to becoming an unfeeling sword. It was, he believed, the answer he had found in his blade.

Wilhelm gritted his teeth and forced away the image of Theresia that floated through his mind. If she hadn’t kept asking him, he would have stopped believing it long ago. He dashed forward, as if to escape the fact.

3

When Bordeaux entered the audience chamber, he could physically feel the air thicken. It was the tingling sensation of a great battle about to begin—a confrontation with an absolute opponent. He had been right to come here alone. He suspected only he among his men could bear this.

“I’ll never be able to thank Wilhelm enough,” he muttered. Although they rarely fought now, his duels with Wilhelm on the training ground had accustomed him to such an overwhelming aura of battle. He was frightened, yes, but the fear was familiar.

There were few opponents whom Bordeaux would recognize as genuinely stronger than himself. It wasn’t just that he hated to admit it. He was, in fact, a tremendous fighter. He had been around weapons since he had been a boy and had used his natural physique and intellect to pursue the path of a knight. Between his family’s social standing and his own gifts, Bordeaux’s life went almost exactly as he would have wished. Accompanied by other disciples who seemed like annoying older brothers, the wind had always seemed to be at his back as he advanced day by day.

A change had come into his life in the form of Wilhelm. Bordeaux could remember many times he had been at a loss as to how to handle the impertinent and rebellious boy. But Bordeaux had saved Wilhelm, which was enough to justify all the work.

Wilhelm had gone from a boy to a young man, and his sword had become indispensable to the kingdom. Pivot had understood that. It was why he had given his life to save him. Pivot had seen that Wilhelm would be essential in determining not just the kingdom’s future, but Bordeaux’s.

And here, now, Wilhelm’s presence did indeed make the difference between life and death for Bordeaux.

A twin blade came at the hulking man, dyeing the audience chamber’s red carpet even darker with blood as it did. His enemy’s eyes were lifeless, his putrid breath ragged. It was the snake-man, Libre Fermi, but with no hint of who he had been in life. Yet even as an undead warrior, his aura of the greatest demi-human fighter remained.

“No Sphinx, eh? But at least I can get revenge for Pivot. You dirty little reptile!” Bordeaux inflamed his own lust for battle by taunting his enemy. Otherwise, he might have been swept away by the enemy’s aura and lost the initiative.

The difference between them—in the power of their spirits as warriors—was unmistakable. The reason Bordeaux did not succumb was because he had already been on the losing end of such exchanges dozens of times. Wilhelm Trias had acquainted him with it more than well enough.

“I’m not about to be intimidated by an enemy who’s on the back foot. Have at, Libre Fermi!”

He spun his battle-ax above his head and howled like an animal, stomping across the carpet. His huge body sprang forward, and the snake-man met him with the twin blade. Sparks flew, and the room filled with the ringing of steel on steel. The battle between the Viper and the Mad Dog had begun.

4

In front of the huge door of the chapel lay the headless bodies of several royal guards. They were the few that remained to provide security for the castle. They had fought valiantly but futilely, as evidenced by the weapons that lay scattered around and the array of sword marks. Usually, Wilhelm felt he had no sympathy to spare for the dead—that was, the weak. But this time, he found a strange emotion welling up within him. Perhaps it was because he knew what these corpses had been fighting for.

“—”

He cut the emotion off, and with his beloved sword in hand, Wilhelm opened the massive door. It moved slowly with a great creak, and a fresh breeze blew from the chapel into the hallway.

Magical, bluish-white lights illuminated the chapel in the basement of the castle. It was a place of grandeur and solemnity. On either side of the entrance ran rows of benches, and the crest of the Holy Dragon, the crest of the nation, was carved in the far wall. And at the altar, where prayers were offered to that carving, stood two figures.

The figures, one huge and one a small girl, spoke in hoarse voices.

“In this chapel, the people of the kingdom pray to the Dragon,” the larger shadow said. “Empires worship power, and holy kingdoms worship the spirits. I don’t know about the western city states, but I suppose they must have someone who offers up prayers.”

“So then, what do you all pray for?” the girl asked. “What do demi-humans pray for, and to whom?”

“Hmm. If I were to pray, I suppose it would be to the souls of my comrades and ancestors. I, at least, have no other reason to pray.”

Then the two figures turned around.

The girl, of course, he knew well by now. It was the witch Sphinx. And the giant standing next to her—he was the greatest enemy in this war, the leader of the demi-human tribes…

“Valga Cromwell.”

The man nodded when Wilhelm spoke his name, but Wilhelm couldn’t see his expression. Valga had wrapped himself entirely in a white sheet, as though he was trying to hide his identity at this late stage.

“Indeed I am. And you must be the Sword Devil. Yes, I see… The hostility in your face radiates an exceptional spirit. Even I am not immune to it, and battle is my everything. No wonder you were able to kill Libre.”

“What are you talking about?” Such a description of the outcome at Aihiya could only be intended to humiliate him.

The witch, who had twisted the facts in her report, ignored the Sword Devil’s gaze and focused on Roswaal. “If you are here…it must mean the king isn’t coming.” Her voice was emotionless.

Roswaal, her hands encased in metal gloves, responded, “I didn’t have any special reason to tag along. I just haaated the thought of giving you what you wanted. I reject everything about you, and I will eventually stamp out your life under my heel.” She gave a wave of her wrist and assumed a fighting stance with more flourish than was strictly necessary. Behind her, Carol drew her sword, and Grimm readied his shield.

“Brave people, all of you,” Valga said. “For the four of you to try to stand against us…”

“No, that would be the two of you, coming into the heart of the castle,” Wilhelm retorted. “Too bad for you, one of your friends has loose lips and gave away the surprise. We’re putting an end to this, here and now.”

“…I thought I had taken the utmost care in whom I told about my plans, but I see someone found himself talkative at the prospect of death. Never mind. I will not bear a grudge against a fellow demi-human. We’ve made it this far. Our plan is going well enough.”

“True, to the extent that you were able to sneak into the castle. What were those stupid guards doing?”

“We took a hidden pathway through the sewers. No one knows of it now—you humans don’t live long enough to remember.”

Valga stamped his heel against the ground, opening a hidden tunnel. Perhaps he was so frank about it because Wilhelm had explained how he knew Valga’s plan. Someone gave an involuntary click of the tongue.

“Back before the covenant with the Dragon, demi-humans were among those who helped construct this castle. Trying to speculate about the relations between humans and demi-humans in those days is a fool’s errand, but it is rather ironic. It was those times that allowed this moment of reprisal.”

“Nice talk, but bad troop choices,” Wilhelm said. “The way I hear it, you’re only good in a battle of wits, not a contest of arms. Apparently, your witch there is the only one with real fighting power.”

“…Yes. As I am now, I suppose that is true.” Valga’s voice grew quiet.

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow at this portentous whisper, and the demi-human gave a rumbling laugh.

“If all had gone as I wished, the king would be here now. In order to reach him, I would have had no choice but to defeat the royal guard. Do you think I came unprepared for that task?”

“You never do anything the simple way.”

“You are an emotionless man, aren’t you?” Valga said curtly. Then he turned to his companion. “Sphinx, the spell.”

Sphinx looked up at the huge man beside her and cocked her head. “Are you sure? Once I begin, it will be difficult to stop. Impossible, in fact.”

“I don’t care. I knew all along that if I wanted to properly avenge my comrades, I wouldn’t return alive!” With a bellow, Valga tore away the sheet that was covering him. Hidden underneath was an old man with a bald head and a face like a demon. But his armor-like muscles, a unique trait of the giants, showed no age. His body was like a sheer cliff, and drawn on it was a purple sigil that began to glow—a magic circle.

“A magic circle on a living body?!” Carol exclaimed. “What kind of spell is this?!”

“I told you,” Valga said gravely. “You humans pray to your dragon. I will pray to my ancestors and my fellow demi-humans.”

The spell began to take effect on his aged flesh, and as the glow intensified, Valga pulled something out of a pouch—a small box.

“O bones of my forefathers, testament to the days when the giants were truly feared…!”

“The Sacrament of the Immortal King cannot construct an undead warrior from a pile of bones,” Sphinx said. “But with a living descendent who shares the same blood and a tremendous amount of mana, things are different.”

“You think you’re going to bring back the old giants using the body of Valga Cromwell?!” Wilhelm said.

“The pride and the anger of the demi-humans you shall see with your eyes, feel with your flesh, and carve into your souls, damnable humans!” Valga shouted, and then he shoved the bones into his own chest. Immediately, Sphinx’s ritual, amplified by the magic circle drawn on his body, did its awful work.

“Hrrraahh— Ahhhh— Ahhhhhhhh!”

Valga’s howling voice got louder and louder, and the body it came from grew larger and larger. His lungs expanded as his body swelled to twice its original size, then twice again. Seconds later, the light of the spell faded.

Carol’s trembling voice filled the chapel as she stared up at the looming form: “Is—is this what the giants used to be? You’re nothing but a monster…!” Her words carried no small amount of terror. No one could have blamed her for it. Valga’s head now reached the ceiling; he was easily more than thirty feet tall. He had grown so much, in fact, that he had to kneel to fit in the chapel.

Suddenly, the huge form stretched out its arm. The movement was nonchalant, yet it occurred with a violent quickness.

“Look out!” Wilhelm shouted, dodging to one side of the incoming fist. Roswaal was able to avoid it as well, while Grimm faced the blow head-on and protected Carol. Trying his best to judge where to hold his shield, Grimm took an impact like that of a rampaging animal. Instantaneously, he and Carol were both launched backward out the door and into the hallway.

“Oh no—!”

“That idiot threw himself backward to blunt the impact! But never mind that—here comes Valga!” Wilhelm called to the worried Roswaal. He refocused with his blade in hand and stared at Valga, whose battle aura had grown with him, and at Sphinx, who was floating in the air.

The witch paid his glare no mind, looking up at the ceiling the giant had shattered. “Valga, perhaps I could leave this to you? I believe the next step will require going elsewhere.”

“Do what you want. As for me, I’ll take revenge for Libre.”

“So be it, then. Valga, I require your good fortune in battle.”

“Right. I appreciate your help. Although I’m not sure about all the details.”

Sphinx, given leave, cocked her head at Valga’s parting words. But then the witch floated up through the destroyed ceiling without saying anything further.

“Sphinx…!” Roswaal shouted angrily.

Wilhelm gestured to the hallway with his sword. “You follow the witch. Bring those kids catnapping in the corridor.”

Roswaal’s eyes widened with a glance at Valga’s hulking form.

“You mean to take Valga on alone? Like that? I don’t think thaaat’s possible, do you?”

“We can’t let the witch get away. And you’re not going to fight Valga with your fists or a shield. Carol specializes in deflecting things with her blade, and that won’t help, either. You have to get in there and cut him down. He’s mine.”

Wilhelm, his sword now pointed once more at the giant, exuded an immense battle aura.

“You really are something. If we both make it back safely, I might practically kiss you.”

“Forget the creepy chatter and just go.”

“So cold, though. Perhaps your heart belongs to someone else?” Roswaal said, ignoring the circumstances long enough to tease Wilhelm. He only snorted. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her that, just for an instant, the image of a red-haired girl had flashed through his mind.

“Best of luck,” Roswaal said.

“Yeah. You be sure to kill her.”

With these deadly words, the two vowed to fight, and then Roswaal retreated quickly from the chapel. Wilhelm assumed she had grabbed their two companions from the hallway and gone upstairs to battle Sphinx. Whether or not the three of them could best the witch depended on them.

Wilhelm didn’t realize that this was, in its own way, a kind of trust.

“I don’t have time to be worrying about anyone else, anyway,” he muttered, sinking into a fighting stance.

“Don’t overestimate yourself, boy,” Valga replied. “Do you think one as lowly as yourself can really stop me from getting what I want?” He made a sweep with one gigantic arm. The Sword Devil dodged it, trusting in his own skills. The corners of his mouth turned up.

“If you’re strong enough, you’ll get by me. If you’re weak, I’ll crush you. That’s all there is to it. The strength of your ideals has nothing to do with it.”

5

He stepped in and brought the ax down with all his might. One end of the twin blade caught the blow and then cracked under a force that it couldn’t withstand. The ax bit into the serpent’s body, sending scales and blood flying. Libre reeled backward.

“Grraaahhhhhh!!” Though the wounded creature made not a sound, Bordeaux flew at him with a cry. He swung the heavy battle-ax like an extension of his arms, cutting with the blade and following up with the hilt. The undead warrior that had once been Libre resisted these attacks with all the skill that was still left in him.

He dodged, defending with the twin blade. Bordeaux was thrown off balance, and a strike found him. It grazed his shoulder and abdomen, but Bordeaux held his ground despite the flow of blood.

This was without a doubt the strongest opponent he had ever faced. It was hard to believe that this was how he fought, even with his lessened capabilities as an undead warrior. The thought of what Libre must have been while alive made Bordeaux shudder—whether from fear or a lust for battle, he didn’t know.

“My blood! My blood boils, Libre Fermi!”

Whichever it was, at this moment he told himself it was the urge to fight. Despite being drenched in blood, Bordeaux continued to shout; he looked into Libre’s lightless eyes. The serpent showed no reaction to the yell and only twirled the twin blade in his hand to continue the battle.

It was a deadly dance as Libre Fermi’s twin blade began a ballet that was sure to kill.

“Hrrgh— Yaaaaaahhhh!”

Bordeaux’s heart quailed at the storm of blows. But as he was driven back, he could feel the trembling from below through the soles of his boots. They were the shocks of a tremendous battle, and imagining the deeds of his comrades inspired him.

Pivot’s last words were not to neglect what was below me.

What would Pivot say if he saw Bordeaux taking heart from his friends fighting literally under his feet?

Of course.

“You’d just laugh and tell me that wasn’t what you meant, wouldn’t you, Pivot!”

Bordeaux howled. His emotions stirred by the incoming dance of death, he hefted his ax and charged in. He didn’t have Wilhelm’s technique or Grimm’s ability to block a blow, nor was he as nimble as Carol or as thoughtful as Roswaal. Instead, Bordeaux Zergev gambled everything on what he did have, the body and abilities he’d been given.

“Rrraaahhhhhhh!!”

The twin blade assaulted him like a tempest, scoring his body; everywhere he felt burning pain and flowing blood. Still, he raised his ax and brought it down squarely on the snake-man with shattering force.

The strike slammed home. And finally…

 

 

 

 

6

The burning light was a beam of death, evaporating everything it touched as it carved a trail along the floor and the wall. This rain of destruction came from a peerless demon in the form of a young girl.

Sphinx had retreated through the ceiling of the chapel up to the ground floor of the castle, but she was stopped by a woman in a military outfit, who had chased her.

“You are quite persistent,” Sphinx said. “You require extermination.”

“Is that sooo? If you would hurry up and die, I could go back to being a normal woman.” Roswaal kicked off the stone wall, vaulting into the air and punching at the levitating Sphinx. The girl dodged left and right, but Roswaal pushed off the wall again, her long leg tracing a beautiful arc in the sky. The kick connected with the witch, bringing her to the ground.

“Grimm, with me!”

“—!”

Carol and Grimm slammed into her from opposite directions in the corridor. Sphinx spun to meet the double attack, creating a shield of magic to defend herself against Carol’s sword, the more deadly of the two instruments.

“Hrk!”

But of course, that left her to take Grimm’s shield blow undefended. The girl stumbled at the strike from behind and was thrown into the large, open room beyond the corridor.

“We did it!” Carol whooped.

“No, nooo. We slipped. I was hoping to keep her here, where space is tight.” Roswaal frowned at her failed ploy. Along with the wordless Grimm, the three of them charged after Sphinx.

A second later, the beam rained down upon them, turning the exit of the corridor a glowing white.

“This requires caution,” Sphinx said, floating in the air of the large room, well above the ceiling of the hallway. “However weak, prey may turn vicious when cornered.” Her timing was perfect; she had her enemies trapped with no escape. She was confident they could never have dodged her light.

But then… “—? What trick is this?”

“Ohhh, it’s not so haaard to understand,” Roswaal said as she and the others emerged unharmed from the hall through the smoke. In answer to Sphinx’s question, she flung aside the cape she had been wearing. “My cape was woooven with a spell that allows it to resist any magic at all, one time.”

“I see. So that’s how you protected yourself and your allies. I commend your thoroughness. You truly do want to kill me.”

“But of course. Still, I thiiink you still dooon’t understand how much.”

Sphinx may have had an air of superiority as she stared Roswaal down, but Roswaal was undaunted. Carol stepped out from behind her, holding her sword in a low stance.

“My apologies for the trouble, Lady Mathers,” she said. “May I leave your side for a moment?”

“Yes, do what you want. Maybe you could do something that rattles her nerves.”

Sphinx cocked her head, mystified by this exchange between a master and servant who had known each other a long time. “She is considerably less powerful than you. Do you not merely send her to her death in vain?”

“Base creature. Do not make light of the sword technique of Remendes, my house, which serves the Sword Saints,” Carol said sharply. She raised her sword and, with a light-footed leap, jumped into the air, throwing herself at the witch.

Sphinx met this sudden, direct assault with a glowing finger. “A futile death indeed. You would have required innovation to reach me.”

The beam lanced out. Carol, hanging in midair and with no wings to fly, could not avoid it. Surely she would be pierced by the light and turned into smoldering ash.

And yet she wasn’t.

“Hrm?”

“I told you, don’t underestimate the Remendes family!” Carol said to the surprised witch, having neatly dodged her attack. Though she had been in midflight, Carol had kicked off of thin air to accelerate herself upward. Then she came down with a crescent strike, cleaving the witch’s undefended left arm in half.

“Haaagh!”

The arm went flying, and a spray of blood erupted from the girl as she fell to the ground. Carol attempted to follow with another blow, but her opponent’s remaining arm flung out another beam. Carol kicked the air again and just managed to avoid it. But this was not the end of the witch’s troubles.

“I’ve been waiting twenty years for this, witch! Take this!”

Roswaal was directly below the plummeting Sphinx, and her fist came up in a whirlwind of air. It impacted the girl’s body, the power of it coming through the metal glove, breaking bones and rupturing internal organs. The sound could be heard throughout the entire room.

“—!!”

Even Sphinx could not remain unperturbed in the face of such power. The deadly force drove blood from her mouth and distorted her sweet face with pain. She tried to speak, but her words were lost as she vomited. Her body tumbled to the middle of the huge room.

The blood loss from her left arm and the heavy damage to her organs from the punch would have spelled the immediate death of any normal human, but with a witch, even that might not be enough.

“Until I’ve crushed your skull and torn out your heart, I can’t be sure,” Carol said, lowering herself to the ground and eyeing the witch. She came down from the sky less out of an abundance of caution and more for personal reasons. She would be the one to finish Sphinx.

She advanced on the girl, ready to strike one decisive blow…

“You sur-surprise me. I never—cough!—expected to be brought so low…” Sphinx sat up, still coughing up blood. Her face had gone pale, and she should not have been able to move. But she could still evoke an unspeakable terror.

“I’m glad it was…my left arm you cut off…”

Roswaal moved in, looking to crush the witch’s head with another punch before she could do anything. But Sphinx was faster, pulling off her robe with her remaining arm. The cloth tore away with a soft rip, and there beneath, on the girl’s white, exposed skin, was a purple design. The same one that had been drawn on Valga.

“Al Ziwald.” She intoned the magic for the ultimate form of Ziwald, her death ray.

The beam that had previously come only from the tip of her finger now burst from her entire palm. It was as if her hand was reaching out to annihilate everything in its path.

The destructive ray speared diagonally across the great hall, and death drew nearer by the instant. Even Roswaal would be hard-pressed to dodge it; she found herself hardly able to speak with astonishment.

Similarly silent was the young man who brought up his shield and met the beam head-on.

7

The blows smashed the floor and ceiling of the chapel with the force of an oncoming wall. The giant’s strikes looked powerful enough to send a person flying, even if the hit only grazed him. But Wilhelm, the wind from the swipes rustling his hair, avoided the attacks as narrowly as he could, then struck back.

“It’s hopeless, boy!” Valga crowed. “Do you think a cheap little sword like that can bring down a giant?”

The Sword Devil’s attacks merely bounced off the massive creature, who was strong enough to punch through steel or rock. The recoil flung Wilhelm back, and the giant’s other arm came for him. He danced away from it, but the speed of his evasion only put him further off balance, providing a critical opening.

“I like your talk—but this is the end!”

“Gwah?!”

Wilhelm was caught in midair, and Valga brought his hand down as if swatting a fly. Wilhelm defended immediately, but against the overwhelming force of the attack it was meaningless. The blow hit his entire body all at once. He bounced off the chapel floor and slammed into a row of pews. He was pinned under the rubble of the shattered seat, and silence descended.

 

 

 

 

“A trifle. Now to destroy the entire castle and—”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Hrm?”

The giant’s inquisitive grunt rumbled throughout the room. Wilhelm leaped at him from out of the mountain of debris. The Sword Devil was soaked in blood, but still his eyes burned with the lust for combat. Valga quickly brought up his right arm to block, but Wilhelm ducked around it. The left arm was late in coming, and he dodged it. He dashed up Valga’s arm and drove his sword into one of the giant’s astonished eyes.

Giants’ skin could withstand steel, but their vital points were as fragile as a human’s. Wilhelm pierced the eye easily, and vitreous fluid gushed out, covering him.

Valga roared in pain. “Hwoooahhhhhh!”

The Sword Devil pulled out his blade with satisfaction. As Valga convulsed in agony, Wilhelm grabbed on to his shoulder and laughed. His own body groaned from the earlier impact; the moment of inattention had cost him several broken bones and ruptured internal organs. If he wasn’t careful, the blood would block his throat. The burning pain made him regret even having to breathe.

But now—now this was his battlefield.

“Ruuuahhhhhh!”

With a shout, Wilhelm targeted Valga’s fingers as the monster pressed a hand to his wound. He scored a hit against a joint. It felt hard under his sword, and he couldn’t sever it. But that was no reason to admit defeat or lose hope.

Carrying the momentum of the deflected blow, he buried the tip of his sword in one of the howling lips. He broke through skin, pierced flesh until he felt the blade collide with a row of teeth. Valga bellowed again at this violence to his mouth. He lashed out blindly, trusting his strength to make up for his lack of precision, and scored a lucky direct hit. Wilhelm went spiraling through the air and slammed into the ground.


Wilhelm planted his fist into the ground to stop himself from rolling. Legs trembling, he stood. But once he was on his feet, the Sword Devil gave a click of his tongue at his own powerlessness and stared up at the giant. The sword buried in the side of the creature’s mouth seemed impossibly far away.

“So this,” Valga growled, “is the pain of battle…the suffering of my fellows as I sat in the shadows, concocting my little schemes. How self-important I was!”

As Wilhelm stood gritting his teeth, Valga took his hand away from his wound. As Wilhelm watched, red steam drifted from his ruined left eye, and the wound healed itself. This was accompanied by an intensifying glow of the symbol on Valga’s chest—the fearful effects of the Sacrament of the Immortal King.

“But I shall not be defeated while the anger and humiliation of my comrades remain unexpiated! However strong you may be, you will learn you are nothing before the pride of—”

“Blah, blah, blah. I thought I told you. I don’t give a damn how idealistic you are!”

Valga howled again and raised both arms high. He whipped them about, yet despite the display of deadly power, Wilhelm boldly stepped forward in hopes of reclaiming his sword. His opponent was a monster with immense endurance and the ability to regenerate himself. Wilhelm would not be able to defeat him unarmed.

Valga was an amateur when it came to combat; he relied entirely on his strength. That gave Wilhelm a glimmer of a chance.

It was true. Ideals were meaningless in battle. It wasn’t the demi-humans’ collective anger or pride that had allowed Valga to corner Wilhelm. It was simply that giants were powerful.

“What a pain in the ass!” Wilhelm shouted. “Everyone wants to drag me into some ridiculous…thing!”

He wanted to throw himself into being a single sword—yet he encountered so many unnecessary intrusions. Everyone wanted him to have a reason, or an ethos, or a faith, or pride, or dignity. What was so great about having a reason to fight? Did there have to be a meaning to using the sword?

Do you like flowers?

No, he hated them. He was sure he did. To him, it was all superfluous emotion.

Why do you wield your sword?

Because it was all he had. It was all he needed. It was enough.

Because he had been taken by the beauty of steel, enthralled by its vitality, and so had hoped to become a sword himself.

“Your ruination is upon you, human! The death of the Sword Devil will be an appropriate footnote to the destruction of this kingdom!”

“Everything…that’s mine…is mine!”

“No one but you believes that now! You and I are both—!”

Two giant arms and harsh avowals assaulted Wilhelm as he tried to draw closer. The physical strength shattered the floor, the words pierced the Sword Devil as well as the giant. Anger against anger, pride against pride—it was neither of those, certainly. What each of them brought to the battle was too different. The gulf between what each of them wanted was too vast.

Still, as two people who fought, they waged a battle. And so it would not be luck that decided the outcome. The result would be down to who was stronger.

All this was what Wilhelm believed, the source of the strength that the Sword Devil trusted in. So perhaps the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

Because the Sword Devil, who believed his strength was as steel, had impurities within himself.

“Gah… Haah…”

“Now, your end has come.”

Wilhelm had taken a direct hit, unable to avoid the blow. It threw him back against the wall, where he slid to the ground. His left arm was a wreck, and his mutilated forehead was pouring so much blood into his eyes he could barely see. The giant made a fist and raised it over his head, taking aim at the now immobile Sword Devil.

Wordlessly, Wilhelm watched the fist float over his head. When it came down, it would crush his body and turn him into nothing more than a bloody lump of flesh.

Death itself was before him. Death, which he had visited on so many others. He had no sword. He hadn’t even found the reason he clung to his blade. And now he was going to—

“Meet your end, Sword Devil. Perhaps Libre and I will see you in hell!”

The fist came down. The end of Wilhelm’s life came barreling toward him.

“Grimm! Now!!”

“—rrrr!”

In that final instant, he heard the voice of a woman, and of a man whose voice was hardly a whisper. The impact shook the entire chapel.

8

Grimm threw himself between Roswaal and the beam of light an instant before it annihilated her.

“—”

He hadn’t been sure he would win or even survive. Until now, neither victory nor survival had influenced Grimm’s life as bad luck had, so what came of his blocking the light with his shield was also a gift of his “bad luck.”

“With a mere shield…”

This was not like stopping any normal attack. This was the light that had decimated the castle’s great hall and all but evaporated the royal guards who now lay dead in the corridor. It could pierce armor; it should certainly have been able to do the same to a shield.

“Grimm!” Carol shouted as the attack hit home. She could be cool, but deep down she was kind and pure. Her fragile heart was surrounded by a shell like glass. So although she could appear hard, she was in fact quite delicate. She wanted to support Grimm—even if he, who had relied on her help so much lately, might have thought that was ridiculous.

Even so, in the days before this battle, her thoughtfulness had been his salvation.

“—”

Grimm felt the grip of his shield heating up under the beam’s assault. It burned as though he had put his hand to a hot soup pot, but he refused to let go.

He couldn’t use a sword. He had no voice. He would not relinquish his shield.

“My Al Ziwald. He—?”

Across from Grimm, the witch could hardly speak for amazement. Grimm’s shield was catching the beam from her hand, reflecting the all-consuming heat up to the ceiling of the great hall.

The heat was the only thing that affected the shield; there was no further damage to it. The shelter had saved Grimm and Roswaal.

On the back of the shield was the crest of the House of Remendes, Carol’s family. It was an heirloom Carol had given to Grimm to celebrate his survival. And in doing so, she saved his life.

“—rrr!”

The heat burned his hand, and the pain forced a scratchy sound out of his throat. Deflected by Grimm’s defense, the beam destroyed the ceiling and brought down the floor of the room above the great hall.

That room happened to be the audience chamber, where the Mad Dog and the Viper were fighting.

“Wh-what the—?!”

Two humanoid figures fell with the rest of the rubble as the floor suddenly vanished from beneath them. The shout belonged to a badly wounded Bordeaux. He pushed the butt of his battle-ax against the wall to lessen the force of his descent. It allowed him to avoid a fatal impact, even though he still hit the ground hard.

“Hrrgh… Th-the great hall? How did I get here…?” Bordeaux shook his head and looked around in confusion.

But the shape next to him, despite having had nothing to soften its landing, stood up slowly as though it didn’t feel its wounds. This other person was tall and covered in scales—it was without a doubt the serpent Libre Fermi.

“I believe this is what they call ‘turning the tide of battle,’” Sphinx said. Her magic had been deflected, but as a result, she had gotten reinforcements in the form of her most powerful undead warrior. The witch moved to Libre’s side and thrust out her right arm in front of the silent warrior. She pointed at Grimm, who had fallen to one knee, and at Roswaal, who stood with her fists up.

“You have the numbers, but I have the strength. Libre. This requires your attention. Starting now, you will fight, and I will support you as you—”

Sphinx found herself cut off before she could finish giving orders.

The reason was a sword blow. And it came from the most unexpected of places—right beside her.

“…Wha?”

Her right arm, which had been pointed at Roswaal, went tumbling freely through space. She had never expected to lose her other arm in this way. Now the witch was truly hemorrhaging. She turned toward Libre.

Brandishing the twin blade, the undead Libre Fermi looked at the witch and dropped his weapon. Now they could see he had a gaping, critical wound in his chest, inflicted by a battle-ax.

The zombie Libre Fermi had already been defeated by Bordeaux Zergev.

“Impossible…,” Sphinx breathed. “In your last moment, did you fulfill…your final vow…?”

No sooner had she spoken than Libre lost what remained of his existence. The slender body crumbled into dust, leaving only its robe, and the flesh was now nothing more than a pile of ashes. The strongest of the demi-human warriors, who had been used and exploited even after his death, was at last well and truly gone.

“Looks like the tide’s turned back, Sphinx,” Roswaal said coldly.

“—!” The witch had now lost both her undead warrior and the arm she had been using to cast her magic. She had no more options, and for the first time, something like panic entered her face. She did the only thing she could still do—she used her levitation magic to float from the great hall toward the corridor to escape.

“—! We can’t let her—!”

“She has nooo hope of getting away at this point. Leave her to me.” Roswaal stopped Carol before she could give pursuit and moved to finish the witch. Just before she disappeared into the hallway, Roswaal turned. “I thank you, Grimm Fauzen. Without you, I would never have been able to accomplish my mission. I apologize for having made light of you before. And, Carol, I’m sorry to you, too.”

“—”

“Y-you needn’t apologize to me! J-just deal with that thing!”

Grimm couldn’t have spoken at that moment even if his vocal cords had been in working order. Carol, for her part, turned red at Roswaal’s jibe.

Roswaal nodded with her usual slightly detached look, then tapped the floor with her fingers. “I can still hear something from downstairs. You two go join our dear Wilhelm. I’ll meet you all later.” Then she sprinted into the corridor after Sphinx.

Behind her, Grimm and Carol nodded at each other and then went over to Bordeaux.

“So Libre and the witch are taken care of?” he asked. “What about Wilhelm? What’s happening with him?”

“He’s in the chapel fighting Valga Cromwell, who was turned into a massive giant by a spell,” Carol told him. “Honestly, I’m not sure he needs our help, but…” She seemed to have complicated feelings about the matter. She wasn’t being stubborn and refusing to help Wilhelm. Rather, she seemed to be speaking from a genuine knowledge of how powerful the Sword Devil was. But that didn’t change the fact that the two of them didn’t get along. It was possible that her excessive hostility had caused her to misjudge Wilhelm.

“—”

“…Hmph. Cheeky punk. But I guess that’s what makes you part of Zergev Squadron.” Wordlessly, Grimm was holding out a hand to the kneeling Bordeaux. He smiled broadly, took the proffered hand, and lifted his huge body to its feet. Hefting his battle-ax, he nodded at Carol, who looked at him wide-eyed. “You’re right. Wilhelm—the Sword Devil—he’s more powerful than any of us. Much as I hate to admit it. But I don’t care. If he says he doesn’t need us, then we get to enjoy the show. But on the off chance he’s bitten off more than even he can chew…”

“Yes? What then?”

“We’ll finally get to lend him a hand. The rest of us owe him more than enough favors!”

Then Bordeaux thumped Carol happily on the shoulder and set off for the chapel at a run. Grimm followed him, smiling at the befuddled young woman.

And then…

9

“Grimm! Now!!”

“—rrrr!”

Two figures flung themselves between him and the fist as it came rushing down. The point of a sword found the spaces between the giant fingers, and a shield came up to meet the blow. And, shortly after, a battle-ax arced in and delivered a tremendous strike.

“Hrrrgh!” Bordeaux gave a low groan as the ax connected right below the knuckles of the slowing fist. The skin was too tough for the ax to cut through it, but it couldn’t diffuse the force of the impact. There was a sound like a falling tree, and the middle and index fingers of the hand bent backward.

“Guh… Ahh!” Valga shouted with pain as the digits broke. He pulled his fist back, and Bordeaux laughed. Baring his teeth madly, the huge man saw Wilhelm crumpled against the wall, and his smile widened.

“What’s the matter, Wilhelm? Something wrong? This isn’t like you! Have you given up? Do you think that’s becoming of Captain Killer of the glorious Zergev Squadron?!”

Wilhelm, lying on the ground, didn’t say a word at the mockery, but his hand curled into a fist. He coughed up the blood in his throat and braced himself against the wall, trying to stand.

“Keep it…to yourself. And I don’t recall…asking you to save me.”

“Bwa-ha-ha-ha! You never were a gracious loser! Ahh, now I’m glad I didn’t die. I wish Pivot and the others could hear this!”

There was no malice in his words. Wilhelm could find nothing to say. Bordeaux was right. Wilhelm had once again been saved from death. It was just like with Pivot and Zergev Squadron—Wilhelm had been left alive.

Wilhelm couldn’t say anything, but Valga looked at Bordeaux, Grimm, and Carol and shook his head.

“Reinforcements? No…if you lot are here, it must mean Libre and Sphinx are finished.”

“Libre Fermi has turned to ash, and the witch Sphinx will soon find herself in hell, courtesy of Lady Mathers,” Carol said, pointing her sword at the giant. “Valga Cromwell, you are the last of the Demi-human Alliance’s leaders.”

Valga put his bloodied hand to his face, and for several seconds, he was silent. Then a rumble began in his throat. The sound echoed on and on through the air. Unbelievably, it was laughter.

“Why do you laugh?!” Carol demanded.

“You humans understand nothing,” Valga said. “For even now, after all this killing, you fail to grasp our purpose, our principles!” His yell, as loud as an explosion, echoed through the chapel. The wind of his anger shook the basement air. Rage was on Valga’s face. He spread his arms wide and ground his teeth. “It will not stop, this war. Let Libre and Sphinx be dead, and let the lot of you kill me here. It will not extinguish the anger of the demi-humans. The hatred will not fade.”

“—”

“Even if we fail in this battle today,” Valga went on, “the demi-humans’ rage will one day burn this kingdom to cinders. As long as you humans refuse to understand my anger, along with that of my fellow demi-humans and all our dead—!”

Confronted with Valga’s furious pronouncements, Carol and Bordeaux fell silent. The emotion in his words was more than enough to suggest the truth of what he said, that the fighting would not end.

Many more would be hurt, the country would be exhausted, and even then it would not stop. Precisely because Bordeaux and the others had such a broad perspective, they understood how serious this possibility was.

But there was one person in the chapel who didn’t share their view.

“Don’t you ever shut up?” The interruption came from Wilhelm, who now exuded murder from every pore of his body. The Sword Devil wiped the blood roughly from his face and, his breath ragged, glared at the giant. “Stake everything on this moment. Who cares about what’ll happen after you die or how this war will go? What you do right here, right now, is everything you are!”

“How simplistic… Indeed, how stupid! Your vision is too narrow! Your thinking is softheaded! You say the fight is all?! Well, you’ve overreached yourself in this battle—what will you do when it’s over?”

Wilhelm’s reply was simple. “I’ll keep running and killing everything I can. I’ll keep cutting and killing until it’s all over.”

Valga Cromwell found himself at a loss in the face of such a shallow, immature, foolish response. But it wasn’t astonishment that kept him from answering immediately. It was because this was a pronouncement. Wilhelm Trias’s words were as serious as serious could be.

“There’s nothing else,” Wilhelm went on. “I don’t know any other way. So I’ll keep killing.”

There was nothing, had never been anything else Wilhelm could have done. He had been left alive, first by Pivot and his squad mates, and now by Bordeaux and his comrades. If there was to be meaning in having survived, if anyone expected anything of Wilhelm—the only way he knew to answer was by fighting.

Valga gave Wilhelm a tired shake of his head. “…There is no more value in talk. There is no need to speak here. I hardly need to say it.”

Now the giant and the Sword Devil symbolized the total rupture between humans and demi-humans. Neither expected the other to ever understand him, and so their battle resumed.

Wilhelm’s cherished blade was still lodged in Valga’s lip. The Sword Devil would have to dodge Valga’s attacks long enough to steal back his sword before he could join the battle in earnest.

“Do you truly believe you can win, human?!” Valga Cromwell, the giant, howled.

“Win, lose, I don’t care,” Wilhelm, the Sword Devil, answered. “Just so long as I get to cut you down.”

And then the final battle began.

10

He twisted to dodge the fingers. He was exhausted, every inch of him wounded. His endurance and strength were near their limits, yet he seemed more agile than when he had been in perfect health. Like a candle that burns brightest before it goes out, everything that was not necessary to his life had been stripped away, and he felt polished, clean.

His doubt had been dispelled. He had shrugged off all those invisible weights, and Wilhelm’s heart and body both felt light.

“Ha-ha!”

It was a good feeling. A good way of being. His heart and mind were both focused on combat more completely than ever before. Here, on the cusp of life and death, only he and Valga existed.

Bordeaux and Grimm, although they had come to the chapel for this fight, showed no sign of intervening. Wilhelm was grateful to know that the purity of his battle would not be tarnished, but he also knew that the battlefield was his and his alone.

The fingers tore up the floor, and a hand swiped at him, but he kicked off the wall and jumped to dodge it. The instant he hit the ground, he crouched low and began to run, putting the series of attacks behind him as he closed distance. He put worthless thoughts behind him, too, throwing himself undiluted into a contest of life and death.

“Stand still, you stinking human—!” Valga yelled, unable to take precise aim at his constantly moving enemy.

The basement room was sturdily constructed, but already no trace of its former elegance remained. Rebuilding it would no doubt take time and effort. The only part of the room that remained undisturbed was the wall behind Valga, on which was carved the seal of the dragon.

It was not only the chapel that had suffered. The battle with Sphinx and the undead Libre would have caused destruction throughout the castle. Wilhelm had wanted to personally repay both of them, and he wasn’t pleased to have had vengeance snatched from him by interlopers. But if Bordeaux and Grimm were both safe, then perhaps he could live with it.

Valga’s voice trembled. “Do you think you have the time to be looking at your friends, you sniveling—”

“I was just making sure they were out of the way. Don’t get all bent out of shape.”

Wilhelm eliminated the last impure thing within him. Now, the Sword Devil’s awakening was complete.

“It’s time for you to pay!” he bellowed, spinning to dodge an enraged backhand. The move carried him closer to the giant. The monster’s hand reached out to grab Wilhelm as he drove at the creature’s chest, but the Sword Devil used the huge fingers as stepping-stones to jump closer still. At last, his outstretched hand reached Valga’s lip, grabbed the trapped sword, and made a sideways cut.

The Sword Devil landed on the ground amid a rain of blood. Valga howled in pain and struck out at his enemy. Well aware of the incoming fist, Wilhelm changed his stance and took another swing.

The horizontal swipe got under three of the nails on Valga’s right hand. Each fingernail was almost the size of a person’s head. With his sword lodged between the nails and the fingers, Wilhelm pushed, shattering the fingertips and tearing the nails from the hand. Valga could hardly make a sound, his throat constricted with agony, but as his body pitched backward the Sword Devil jumped in.

His target was none of the vital points above the neck—he was aiming for Valga’s exposed chest. Buried in that chest, at the center of the glowing purple symbol, were the bones that had allowed Valga to grow so large.

“Ru—ahhhhhhhhh!”

Holding his sword in a reverse grip, he brought the blade down with all his strength. The blow smashed Valga’s collarbone, piercing into the flesh beneath—and a second later, the sword arrived at the scattered bones.

As soon as he felt the sword strike something hard, Wilhelm kicked off Valga’s chin, driving the weapon down with his body weight. The sword acted like a lever, tearing through the flesh, though it was still caught in the bones.

“Daaaaaaamnn youuuuuu!”

Finally realizing Wilhelm’s intention, Valga brought both hands blindly to his chest, as hard as he could. But the Sword Devil kicked off Valga’s abdomen, flipping completely upside down and executing a spin that finally dislodged the bones. A blinding light filled the chapel.

“Hrrraaghhh!”

Without the bones of his ancestors, Valga lost the source of his immense size. Immediately, his strength began to dwindle. The symbol on his chest was still glowing, but the power it was feeding into him was too much for his normal body. He was caught between his weakening flesh and the increasingly powerful magic circle, and his body couldn’t withstand it.

“Ah—ahhhhh!”

Blood began to spew out from all over his body, and Valga fell to his knees. His thirty-foot-tall body was audibly shrinking.

“—”

Valga glared at Wilhelm, tears of blood streaming from his eyes. Wilhelm, whose sword had remained at the ready the entire time, stared unflinchingly back.

Valga took his hands from his wounds and formed them into fists.

“…Victory hinges on this moment now.”

“…Damn right.” The enemy had not lost his will to fight but saw one final confrontation—and it was this to which the Sword Devil responded.

“Have at, human.”

“Come at me, demi-human.”

 

 

 

 

With these quiet declarations, the last exchange between the giant and the Sword Devil began.

Valga did not spare even the effort to utter a battle cry; he brought both his arms, as large as trees, down with all his might. The blow shattered the floor and caused not just the chapel but the whole castle to tremble on its foundations.

But the blow had not landed on Wilhelm.

“Shhhhhhyaa!”

Wilhelm barely dodged Valga’s attack, moving in toward the giant’s feet. His fervent shout was accompanied by a strike of his sword, which cut into Valga’s shins. Wilhelm could feel the resistance as the weapon cleaved flesh and bone, but he was able to wound the weakened body. As he brought the sword back, it sliced up through the femurs.

“Hrrraaaghhh!”

The attack came through the thighs, continued through the hips, and then Wilhelm turned to bring his sword across Valga’s abdomen. Finally, he reached the chest and, launching himself through the air, the shoulders, and then the multitude of lacerations exploded with blood.

The silver flash devastated the giant’s body and finally hewed at his neck—all in a single, uninterrupted move.

“Remember this, human.” As he struck the ground, Valga spoke quietly to Wilhelm. He made no effort to attend to his plethora of wounds. The Sword Devil stood with his back to the giant. “Remember that this will not bring an end to the demi-humans’ rage.”

Then his massive body lost all strength, slumping to the ground before falling face-first into the floor. The impact was the last straw for the cracked chapel floor beneath him, as it gave way. The castle basement opened into an even deeper darkness, and Valga’s body was swallowed up by the void.

“…Well, let them come at me, then,” Wilhelm said, stepping up to the edge of the hole and looking into the inky blackness. He was covered in blood. Behind him, on the wall of the chapel, was the kingdom’s crest. “So long as I have my sword, I’ll fight them. I’ll cut them down until there aren’t any left.”

Those words marked the end of the contest between the Sword Devil and the giant, Wilhelm and Valga.

11

The items she pulled from her pouch were steel balls small enough to roll around in the palm of the hand. Made of solid metal, they were heavier than they looked. If one were to carelessly drop it on a foot, it would easily break a toe or two. And of course, at full force, it would hit almost as hard as a sword strike.

“Gah… Haah…”

Two of Roswaal’s metal balls buried themselves in Sphinx’s body, one in the lower abdomen and one right in the back. Sphinx groaned at their power and, unable to maintain her altitude, collided with the wall. The witch continued to slide along until she reached the floor, where she was struck by another metal ball. Bones broke, and blood flowed.

“Are you quiiite done trying to fly away?” Roswaal asked the cornered Sphinx, rolling the next steel sphere around in her hand.

Sphinx had left the great hall and flown madly through the castle in an attempt to escape. But without her arms, she couldn’t use her magic, and the dribbling blood left an easy trail to follow. She’d had no hope. Roswaal had calmly attacked her with the metal balls from a distance, tormenting her with them.

“Are these…steel balls…your plan for defeating me…?”

“Quiiite something, aren’t they? They started out as a by-product of the thing I’d prepared to kill you with. Unfortunately, my scrawny arms aren’t enough to do you in by themseeeelves. Having said that, I’m just about out of rounds. I think it’s time we finished this.”

As she approached the witch rolling on the floor, Roswaal loosed the next ball, shattering her bones. Roswaal looked down at the groaning Sphinx and made a fist in preparation to end the witch’s life.

But then Sphinx spoke. “You are worse…than Valga…it seems… This requires caution…”

“Oh? Are you giving me a warning? How amusing. And what is it I should be cautious of?”

“That the rug isn’t…pulled out from under you,” Sphinx replied emotionlessly. Then she rested her head on the wall. Her pink hair, now drenched in blood, brushed against the stone. As Roswaal looked at the witch in perplexity, a quiet sound reached her.

Then the device hidden in the hallway activated, and Sphinx was whisked away by the spinning floor.

“—”

Even as the girl disappeared, Roswaal realized this had to be one of the castle’s many hidden passageways—the very ones that allowed the demi-humans entry in the first place.

“But it won’t buy you much time,” she said.

Roswaal carefully scrutinized the place where Sphinx had disappeared and quickly figured out how to activate the device. She did so and dropped into the secret tunnel herself.

She landed on her feet and strained to see into the darkness around her. A faint sound of water suggested that this tunnel was home to one of the underground streams that ran beneath the castle. The only light came from the softly glowing minerals in the walls. The path didn’t offer steady footing, but Roswaal set off following the scent of blood.

She could smell it; she was close. But in the middle of the trail, the smell turned to something else unpleasant, and the change inspired an anxiety in Roswaal. She began moving faster and found herself deep within the tunnel.

“Who’s there? Is that you, Lady Mathers?”

The man’s hoarse voice brought Roswaal to a stop. Someone emerged from the dimness, someone she thought she had left behind at the castle gate: Lyp Bariel.

“I thought so,” he said. “You came down here to chase that demi-human as well, did you?”

“So we find ourselves set to the same task, I suppose,” Roswaal said.

Assured of Roswaal’s identity, the knight returned his dagger to its sheath. She didn’t recognize the weapon. Most likely it was a mitia, a magical item capable of tremendous power. Roswaal made no mention of this and looked past Lyp.

“Sphinx, the main force behind the demi-humans, ran this way. Have you seen her?”

“The witch, is it? Well, you can relax,” Lyp said. “I finished her off.”

Roswaal’s breath caught in her throat at this. When Lyp saw her reaction, a cruel smile spread over his already mean visage.

“I helped mop up the demi-humans who got into the castle. A few of them ran. I followed them here. I never imagined there was a place like this underneath the castle—but regardless, I ran into the armless witch not long ago. I didn’t ask any questions. I just burned her to death.”

“You burned her…? Where is the body?”

“She turned to ash. Don’t ask me how, but this was left over in the cinders.”

Lyp dug in his pouch and took out a necklace. It was nothing more than a roughly woven cord with a ring on it, just something to dangle from the neck, but to Roswaal, it had profound importance.

“Perhaps you would be so kiiind as to let me have that?”

“What?”

“It may have magical value. I would dearly like to investigate it.”

Lyp went quiet. But soon after, he flung it at her with a snort.

“Take it, I don’t care. But when they pass out the honors, I expect you to testify that I, Lyp Bariel, arrested the flight of the witch Sphinx at the water’s edge, and that it was I who put an end to her.”

“…Yes, of course. I’m in your debt, Lord Lyp.” Roswaal gave no further answer as she stood with the necklace—the ring—clutched firmly in her hand. So long as it was hers, she had no further business here. She was surprised that someone else had killed Sphinx, but if the witch was dead, then it was no problem for her. Everything was going according to plan.

Caressing the ring tenderly, Roswaal J. Mathers murmured, “Master, I’ve finished cleaning up. What comes next is for the future.”

It was impossible to see her face clearly in the darkness, but she was smiling with the most serene expression.

Lyp Bariel snorted as he watched Roswaal grow smaller in the distance.

“What has she got in mind?” he muttered to himself. “That woman gives me the shivers.”

Now that she had the ring, Roswaal apparently intended to get out from underground as quickly as possible. That was convenient enough for him, but it didn’t make complete sense. It was as if the ring was all she had ever really wanted.

“Well, who cares? What a she-fox like that wants is nothing to do with me.”

What mattered to Lyp was whatever advanced his own ambitions and nothing more. Ever since the defeat at Aihiya Swamp, he had been encountering a headwind. Once a commander of scores of troops, he was reduced to the gendarmerie. They were even considering taking away his noble rank.

It was inconceivable. How could the weak and the incompetent flourish while capable men like himself languished in the lower ranks?

“But I’ll get it all back. No—I’ll get back more than I lost.”

He would do anything to accomplish that goal. Even forsake his loyalty to the kingdom. Lyp was his own kingdom. He was his own world.

Saying nothing further, Lyp turned back. Lying on the ground in the tunnel behind him was a small form wrapped in rags. He picked it up. Without arms, the body was quite light. He had hidden it in these wrappings, and now he was careful to take a different path out of the underground than Roswaal had.

This betrayal was the first act of Lyp Bariel’s long-lived ambition.

12

The attack on Lugunica Castle had been perpetrated by just a few elite demi-humans. Although the destruction of the castle was narrowly avoided, severe damage had been done to the building, and in addition, there was the discovery of the tunnels that had allowed the demi-humans access in the first place. It would take a long time to deal with all of this.

It only made sense to entrust much of the cleanup to Zergev Squadron, which had once again distinguished itself in battle. However, Wilhelm foisted many of his chores on Grimm and fled the castle.

“Like I have the time to hang around with them…”

Stripping off bandages and looking utterly drained from combat, Wilhelm headed for the now-quiet castle town. With the demise of Valga and the other main movers, the rebellions throughout the kingdom had subsided, and peace had returned to the capital. This evoked an unusually strong feeling in Wilhelm, and there was only one place he wanted to go.

Even he didn’t fully understand why he was pushing his exhausted body just so he could go there. After all, it had only been a day since his ordeal. The capital might have been less violent, but many shops had chosen not to do business that day in deference to the destruction at the royal castle, and the streets were still largely deserted.

A sane person would probably have stayed inside, fearful of getting caught up in any trouble. That meant that today, at least, all the people shut up in their houses were showing themselves to be in their right minds. To be out for a little walk on a day like this, as if everything was normal…

“I look like I’m crazy…”

Wilhelm hurried through the poor district—so quickly it almost seemed he’d forgotten about his wounds—and arrived at the plaza. He could detect a faint scent of flowers on the breeze blowing through the square, notifying him of the presence of the field.

And there, in the very middle of the plaza, stood the red-haired girl.

She had her back to him. At the sight of her, Wilhelm stopped cold. The confused welter of emotions swirling in his heart was at once good and bad. The confidence that she would be there overlapped with astonishment at the same fact. It all turned into a tightness in his chest.

At the same time, he felt a kind of melancholic distaste at the thought of their usual exchange.

She was safe. That was what he had come to find out. Wilhelm was just considering whether he should turn on his heel and leave without anything further when Theresia noticed he was there. She turned around. Her blue eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then they narrowed. Finally, her lips formed the half circle of a smile.

“Wilhelm.”

She said his name with such familiarity and affection. It sent a feeling bounding through Wilhelm’s heart that all was right with the world. He completely forgot any notion of turning around and going home. His pulse raced with joy at meeting Theresia, and the warmth and relief spread through his whole chest.

“…Ah.”

No sooner had he realized what he was really feeling than his heart, with no warning at all, trembled. It was a moment of sudden and totally unexpected self-awareness. Wilhelm understood that Theresia’s smile brought him a feeling of well-being. He had a feeling of accomplishment at having protected her smile, her person, their time together.

Thanks to Theresia, standing there with her back to the flowers, he felt something that made him think there might be a greater joy than felling an opponent with his sword and proving his own swordsmanship superior.

The instant this realization struck him was accompanied by a torrent of emotion, a flood Wilhelm thought he had long ago left behind. Caught up in its force, Wilhelm put his hands to his face.

“—”

The insides of his eyelids grew hot, and his nose prickled. He suddenly felt his throat go dry, and his head felt heavy, as if his blood was pumping too fast. There and then, his soul shook; he thought it might drive him to his knees.

A light that Wilhelm had almost forgotten filled his mind.

No—he hadn’t forgotten it. It had always been in his heart, never fading. He had never forgotten its beauty. What he had forgotten was what used to draw him to that light.

He remembered the first day he had taken up a sword, pointing it to the sky. If he had the light, if it was real and could be real—with that power, he could protect everything. That was what he had believed. That day, a powerless young man had picked up a blade for the first time. That day, he had wished for something.

“Wilhelm…”

As Wilhelm stood with his hands to his face, consumed by emotion, Theresia’s voice reached him. How absurd must he have looked to the girl standing in front of him? She couldn’t possibly understand what was going on. She had just been having a normal day when suddenly, the boy she saw from time to time stood quaking with emotion before her.

He was embarrassed, something he hadn’t been for a long time. He was so ashamed, it made him tremble. He wanted to run away immediately. He didn’t want anyone to see his shame, but least of all Theresia. This was about the worst thing he could imagine.

And yet his feet didn’t move. His heart wouldn’t let them—almost as if this was what his soul desired.

“—”

Time passed as both of them stood silently. Then, suddenly, Wilhelm felt a tickling sensation of soft fingers on the backs of his hands. It was Theresia, reaching out and gently touching the hands Wilhelm had placed over his face.

His breath caught at the heat of her thin fingers. He had never realized another person’s body could be so warm. The heat from her fingers made Wilhelm feel like a piece of steel in a forge. And as hot metal is shaped in the fire, Theresia’s heat hit him and began to transform him.

Only now did he realize he had been exposed to that heat every time he came here. Every time he saw her, talked to her, and left without promising to come back. All that time, the sword called Wilhelm was being forged.

No. In fact, it wasn’t just her. It was everything and everyone who was a part of every day that he had survived.

Theresia, Grimm, Bordeaux, Roswaal, Carol, Pivot, and the whole of Zergev Squadron. Valga, Libre, Sphinx, and all the enemies he’d cut down. Everyone who had crossed paths with Wilhelm the blade had left their mark.

Now, at last, he realized it.

As he stood there silently, seeing how he had been molded, a question was asked of Wilhelm:

“Do you like flowers?”

No doubt that question, the same every time, had been seeking some change in him. And Wilhelm saw at last that he had indeed been transforming.

“…I don’t…hate them.”

Now he had no difficulty and no anxiety speaking those words. When he saw flowers on the battlefield, walked by them in his daily life, or saw them in the field by the plaza, surely he would feel something different than he had before.

Theresia’s questions went on. “Why do you wield your sword?”

This was the question that had bothered Wilhelm for so long. But now, at last, he remembered. He could recall what he felt when he had first picked up the blade.

“Because it was…the only way I had of protecting people.”

A sword was power. The most beautiful, finely honed, and purest power. A power to be respected. But how it was used, what ends it was put to—that was controlled by the person wielding it. Wilhelm had forgotten this most basic thing. But now, he remembered. He recalled the beginning, how he had felt when he loved the sword.

“—”

Wilhelm removed his hands from his face and took Theresia’s outstretched hand. A small “Oh” escaped her, but she didn’t draw back. The gesture was too one-sided to be called holding hands, but each could clearly feel the other’s warmth.

“—”

Neither of them said anything, and only looked at each other. Partly they didn’t know what to say, and partly there was no need to say anything. Like when two sword fighters face each other in combat, words were too crude a vehicle for what was passing between them.

“—”

Theresia simply smiled gently at Wilhelm. It was the soft expression she always wore when looking at her flowers, now directed at him.

Wilhelm felt his heart pound, the rhythm taking over him. He couldn’t put the feeling into words. He wanted to share it with the girl before him—but he held back.

Still, though, one small sign of the flood of emotions did make itself known.

That day, for the first time, Wilhelm gave Theresia a completely heartfelt smile.

 

 

 

 

13

The uprisings that had shaken all of Lugunica subsided as suddenly as they had begun. The reason for their end was the deaths of the three main leaders of the demi-human peoples—their strongest warrior, Libre Fermi; their strategist, Valga Cromwell; and the witch, Sphinx. The three of them had been killed in battle by the humans. The resistance had failed.

With the Demi-human Alliance thus losing its main support, it was widely believed that the civil war itself would soon show signs of ending. However, contrary to that expectation, demi-human resistance throughout the land grew more and more fevered. It was, as Valga had said in his last moments, the inferno of their hatred, which was not to be easily extinguished.

And so the humans began to understand. Despite the loss of their leading lights, it was natural that the Demi-human Alliance should continue to fight. However terrible the humans believed the demi-humans’ unchecked hatred was, they had never yet truly faced their enemies’ anger.

This was the beginning of the final stage of the Demi-human War, the civil conflict that rocked the kingdom.

It was, too, the story of the meeting and parting of the Sword Devil and the Sword Saint.

 



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