The Hero King, Reincarnate to Master the Art of War (LN) - Volume 1 - Chapter 8

Chapter VIII: Inglis, Age 15—The City Ruled by Highlanders (Part 2)

The next day, the townspeople came to the square to watch the presentation of the captured rebels.

What awaited these former knights? An execution, presumably. What other fate could await the attempted assassins of Nova’s lord?

“Well, we were the ones who caught them. It’s our responsibility to see the whole process through,” Rafinha said to herself—even though she really didn’t want to watch.

Cyrene stood before the former knights in judgment, expressionless through their jeers and curses. “It is I who drove you out, so I understand your resentment, but I want you to understand you chose the wrong path. Might gives you no right to look down on the weak. People should be respected as people. They should be treated as equals. I wish I could have taught you that.”

The townspeople, who had long suffered under those knights during the previous lord’s reign, rose in applause. Some of the rebels stared at the ground in repentance, some cursed Cyrene’s name. She watched them silently for a moment before delivering an order to her own retinue.

“Free them.”

“What?” Nash exclaimed after a pause, confused. “Cyrene, you’re letting them live?!”

Cyrene nodded to him before kneeling in front of the ex-captain, Hawker. “I’m asking you to turn over a new leaf and join us. In a world with the threat of magicite beasts, people must join hand in hand, not fight among themselves! Please! Use your power not for yourself, but for the powerless!” She bowed so deeply that her stigmata, the symbol of Highland’s pride, scraped along the ground.

Her humility amazed the crowd. Most Highlanders arrogantly looked down on surface-dwellers as subhuman, but Cyrene... Cyrene definitely seemed to be something else entirely.

Inglis watched as the townspeople’s loyalty began to spread even to the ex-knights.

“She’s forgiving us...?” a rebel said.

“No. I’m the one asking for your forgiveness for what I’ve done to you. If you can’t bring yourself to forgive me, you may leave. Just please...please don’t repeat the same cycle wherever you go.”

It was Hawker’s turn to kneel in front of her, completely overwhelmed. “Yes, ma’am! I owe you my life! Use it as you see fit!” Clearing his throat, he turned to his troops. “Listen up, men! We were full of ourselves, but that changes now!”

At his call, his comrades kneeled before Cyrene as the townspeople gave thunderous applause. Today was a new beginning for the town of Nova.

“Wow! Cyrene, you’re so cool! Right, Chris?” Rafinha exclaimed, just as overjoyed as the townspeople were.

“Ha ha ha. She sure is.”

Quite the opposite of being executed, the old knights had been reinstated, which would greatly increase Nova’s ability to defend itself. It was quite the clever plan.

Bold, perhaps too bold. But a sure sign of Cyrene’s youthful enthusiasm. In my past life, I’d have had an eye on her as a potential minister, Inglis thought.

“I thank you all!” Cyrene’s heartfelt delight brought smiles to those around her.

That night, there was a celebratory banquet at the manor. Inglis and Rafinha were able to enjoy the delicacies of Nova to their hearts’ content—not to mention to the shock of their comrades-in-arms.

When they were fully satisfied, Cyrene came to talk. Leaving the banquet early for the privacy of the lord’s suite, they spoke over tea.

“That turned out so well, Cyrene! You’re amazing!” Rafinha said with a small gasp of awe.

Cyrene chuckled. “Really, I was so scared my legs were shaking. I’m exhausted.” She stifled a yawn, and gave a cute, yet apologetic, smile.

“Why, that won’t do at all. I’ve added an herb which will ease away your worries to tonight’s tea. Drink and relax.” The woman who looked after Cyrene and the orphans—Mimosa, her name was—smiled as she appeared with a freshly-brewed pot.

“Thank you, Mimosa. Hmm, this tastes a bit different. Not bad at all, though. I already feel refreshed. It really does carry the exhaustion away.”

Rafinha and Inglis took a sip from their own cups.

“It’s delicious.”

“Yeah, thank you.”

The trio chatted casually for a short while, before Cyrene changed the topic. “There’s something important I want to show you two. Follow me.” Her warm expression from before was gone.

“Oh? Show us what?” Inglis asked.

“What’s this about?” Rafinha tilted her head.

Cyrene only hinted at the subject, her words trailing off. “It’s about what you mentioned before.”

The flow of mana here, I guess?

“Please lead the way, then.” Now that Inglis’s finances were in a good spot, she had been conflicted between investigating it and moving on to their next destination. With Cyrene being the one to approach them, she could use this as an opportunity.

Cyrene took Inglis and Rafinha from her suite to a secret passage running underneath the castle. It was so well-hidden that only Cyrene knew about it—but there was still a magical barrier preventing the passage of any but a Highlander. Cyrene dispelled it for a moment and led Inglis and Rafinha further inside.

After much walking, they arrived at the deepest point of the passage, which opened to a vast, empty hall, its cobblestone floor taken up almost entirely by a vast magic circle marked with strange, eldritch patterns. It glowed faintly as Inglis sensed the mana being drawn down into it.

“What am I looking at? Is this magic circle gathering mana?” Inglis asked.

This must be why mana flows so strangely in Nova—an underground circle, drawing mana from the inhabitants. 

“Wh-What is this, Cyrene?” Rafinha drew away slightly, creeped out by the strangeness of it all.

“This is the core of Highland—the Floating Circle. It draws mana from its surroundings, and when it’s stored enough, the entire area detaches from the earth and floats into the sky. It becomes a new part of Highland.” Cyrene pointed upward as she spoke.

Inglis took a breath in sharply. “So that’s what...”

So that’s what Sistia, the hieral menace, meant when she said Highland was trying to take the surface for themselves.

Inglis had thought she’d meant temporal power, or even religious power, but no. It was physically raising the land into the sky. In the most literal sense, Highland was taking the land for themselves.

“Whaaat?! So the entire town’s going to fly away? Then what happens to the people who live here?!” Rafinha fretted. Inglis wanted to know the answer to that as well.

“A new Highland is for Highlanders,” Cyrene explained. “So they’ll be driven out, made into slaves, or in the worst case the city will be burned, according to what my superiors say.”

“So everyone here is going to be exiled, enslaved, or killed?! No!” Rafinha protested.

“That’s something I won’t allow.” Cyrene’s expression became serious and determined, and she gazed up at the ceiling as if she could see through stone and fixate on Highland itself. “I don’t care what they have planned. I came here to ease the suffering of those living on the surface. So I won’t let anything bad happen to these people. I’ve insisted to them that any who want to rise with Nova be allowed to live freely, not as slaves. If they must become anything, they should be Highlanders themselves. That way, everyone will be able to live peacefully.”

“Do you really think they’ll go along with that?” Inglis asked.

The corners of Cyrene’s mouth tightened. “If they don’t, I’m willing to go to war.”

“So that’s why you forgave the rebels—to have them at your command if that came to pass.”

Cyrene nodded. “Yes. I want to be able to defend this town, come what may.”

“Cyrene.” Inglis stared at her. “Why are you telling us this?”

“Maybe it’s because I want forgiveness. No matter how much I improve things as the consul here, I also carry the seed of ruin with me. I know, yet I keep it a secret. And I haven’t convinced myself that hiding it is the right choice. That’s why I’m asking you. Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” Cyrene’s smile was lonely as she looked at Inglis and Rafinha. “If you believe I’m wrong, strike me down. My death will awaken the guardian of the Floating Circle. But I believe you’ll be able to defeat it while protecting the townspeople. Please, if it comes to that.” Cyrene clenched the cuffs of her coat as she bowed her head.

The two could see her fingers shaking. “What do we do, Chris?” Rafinha asked nervously.

“Rani, your answer to Cyrene’s question is the one that matters, not mine. You need to find your own path.”

“But what about you, Chris? What do you think?”

“Me? My opinion is yours, of course. After all, I am your squire.”

“What?! I have to decide all by myself? That’s no fair!”

“That’s what it means to lead, Rani. Get used to it.”

Inglis had already lived a life of marking her beliefs on the world around her. Now it was time for a new generation to take up the mantle. And yet—Not a word of the Silvare Kingdom, built up according to King Inglis’s ideals over an entire lifetime, appeared in the histories available in Ymir. Its king had left behind a utopia, only to reemerge in another era of suffering. Countries like Highland still sought to dominate their neighbors.

Her entire life’s work from another time had faded from existence like the foam that crested a wave. Inglis couldn’t deny she felt empty, realizing how little she accomplished. So if history really did repeat itself, then there was no point in getting herself involved again. All she could do was live her own life and try to squeeze as much joy out of it as possible.

“Yeah. I understand, Chris.” Rafinha’s expression turned determined, yet dignified, as she took a deep breath. She grasped Cyrene’s hand. “Cyrene, I believe in you! I know you believe in the path you’ve chosen. Take good care of Nova and its people.”

“Rafinha!” Cyrene beamed.

“If you need us when the town rises into the sky, we’ll be there! We have to go to the knights’ academy at the capital now, but that just means we’ll be even better when the time comes! We’ll be your knights!” Rafinha’s smile was as bright as a blooming sunflower.

“Thank you! Thank you so much, Rafinha!” Cyrene latched her arms around Rafinha, tears in her eyes, and Rafinha returned the embrace.

They really do get along well. Maybe Rafinha’s found her match. Inglis couldn’t help but feel just a little bit jealous.

“Is it really right for me to decide this all by myself, Chris?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. If all goes well, I’ll get to take on Highland’s army!”

“That doesn’t sound like things going well at all!” Rafinha fired back.

◆◇◆

After Cyrene finished explaining herself, she retired to her room to rest while Inglis and Rafinha headed for the baths. They’d worked hard—and been well rewarded for it—so the next day they’d be ready to set out again. But not before one last chance to enjoy a warm, relaxing bath.

“Ahh, this feels great. ♪ Too bad we have to say goodbye to these baths.” Rafinha stretched out as she let the water wash over her.

“Until graduation, at least.”

“Yep. I’m glad we ended up here, though. It really makes me feel like my time at the academy’s going to pay off too. If nothing else, we’ll be able to help Cyrene!”

“Definitely. We had a lot of fun, and there’s lots to look forward to when we come back.” Inglis couldn’t hide her excitement at what awaited them.

“You really do have the soul of a warlord in the body of an angel... Shall I wash your back?”

Inglis stared at her.

“Huh, are you still on edge about that?”

“After that last time, of course! Don’t grab my chest again, okay?”

Rafinha paused. “I promise I won’t. This time it’s your butt’s turn.”

“Absolutely not!”

Their playful bickering suddenly took a backseat to another noise.

Rrrrrumble!

Grooooooan!

The entire manor began to shake. Shouts from people inside echoed up to the baths as stone fell from the ceiling.

“Ah! Aaaaah! An earthquake?!”

“Seems like a pretty big one.”

Inglis and Rafinha huddled together to wait it out, but as the shaking stopped, there were different cries.

“It— It’s a magicite beast! There’s magicite beasts!”

“To arms, to arms! Protect the consul!”

“Women and children, evacuate to the basement!”

The shouts of surprise were turning into screams of panic.

“A magicite beast?!” Inglis shouted. “With no warning from the watchtowers?” She could tell something was wrong.

“Time for us to lend a hand! We can’t let anything happen to Cyrene,” Rafinha said.

“Yeah. Let’s hurry up and get dressed.”

They both stood from the bath to hear a deafening sound.

Boooom!

The ceiling of the bath exploded. Fortunately, the mountain of rubble fell away from Inglis and Rafinha, leaving them unharmed. That wasn’t all good news, though.

Hisssss!

Squeeeak!

A flood of low-slung magicite beasts with ratlike bodies leaped down through the hole in the ceiling. Each of the dozen or so beasts was as large as a lion or tiger, big enough to make a meal of a human.

Inglis turned to Rafinha. “Rani, I’ll hold them off. Go get our clothes and your Artifact.”

Fighting naked wasn’t the most appealing idea in the world to Inglis, but there didn’t seem to be much of an alternative.

“Got it, Chris.”

“Here goes, then!” Inglis stepped forward to draw the beasts’ attention. The nearest three formed up side-by-side and rushed at her.

“You sure have terrible manners, attacking a girl in the bath!”

Setting the pace, Inglis made the first move. She was on them in the blink of an eye, delivering a swift high kick to the lead beast’s head that slammed it back into the wall before spinning around with the remaining momentum. Next was a backhand blow that sent the second beast following the same path as its leader. Finally, following through, she swung her leg around into the last of the three. The force of her kick sent it slamming into the other two against the wall.

“I’m not done yet!” The first three were just the beginning, as Inglis knocked the beasts into a pile by the wall, buying time for Rafinha to get their things. Before long, all of them were slammed into one heap.

“Hmm. Not bad.” An observer might have been amazed, but this was just a warmup for Inglis. Physical blows alone couldn’t take down these creatures.

They’d be back up shortly.

She took a breath. “Here goes.”

She didn’t have the time to wait for Rafinha to come back and finish off the beasts. Inglis extended her index finger, and as the cold light of aether swirled around it, she pointed at the squirming beasts.

“Take this!”

Pshhh!

A thin beam of aether sprang forth from her index finger, piercing not just the beasts but the wall as it sailed into the night sky. The beasts shuddered to a halt.

This was Aether Pierce, a concentrated beam of aether. Aether attacks were powerful and affected a broad area, but they were hard to control precisely. By limiting both the power and area affected, she could reduce the effort necessary to control the attack. She felt drained even when using this technique, but it taking less effort was proof that her control of aether was improving. It was certainly something she’d never been able to accomplish in her past life; Inglis Eucus was making real progress. She’d been so happy the first time she’d pulled it off.

“I’m back, Chris!” Rafinha called, running in. “Wow, you already took them out! You’re so fast. I didn’t even get a turn!”

“Don’t worry, there’s more where that came from. Let’s get dressed.”

“Right behind you.”

Once they were clothed, they jumped out from the hole in the ceiling. As they looked down at the manor, they saw a gigantic magicite beast resting on its haunches in the courtyard, surrounded by the bleeding forms of the knights it had taken down. It was humanoid, with wings on its back and a curve to its chest suggesting it had once been a woman. And from its forehead shone the stigmata of a Highlander.

“What?! There’s no way!”

“No... That can’t be Cyrene...” Rafinha’s voice shook in horror.

◆◇◆

A flash of light flew from the extended palm of the beast, formerly Cyrene, turning to a blazing red as it burned through the manor’s wall. Inglis recognized it as a beam of heat, and a powerful one at that. Flames sprung forth at its passage, and fire soon enveloped the manor as the beam carved through the knights trying to extinguish the inferno.

At this rate...!

“I can’t believe Cyrene turned into a magicite beast...” Inglis whispered to herself.

As her mind raced, a memory drifted to the forefront of her thoughts: three years ago when the former holy knight Leon had turned Rahl into a magicite beast. She recalled the substance known as prism powder. That was what Leon had used to transform Rahl. Was this the same? Leon had said he’d received the powder from the Steelblood Front, anti-Highland guerillas.

“Is the Steelblood Front behind this?” she wondered aloud.

“You mean, like when Leon turned Rahl into a monster?” Rafinha asked.

“Yeah. I think that’s what happened here.” One thing still didn’t make sense to Inglis, and she stood there, deep in thought. “But when could it have happened?”

The answer came as Inglis heard a woman’s manic laugh from the courtyard below.

“Aha ha ha ha! Serves you right! We’ll put an end to you Highlanders! My son was killed by one of you! I’ll never, ever forgive you! Burn in hell!”

“Wait, is that Mimosa?!” Rafinha gasped.

“She did that to Cyrene?!” Could Mimosa be a Steelblood collaborator? Inglis wasn’t sure, but something did come to mind. “That must be it! The herbal tea Mimosa served! It must have had prism powder in it!”

“Whaaat?!” Rafinha shouted in surprise.

Inglis thought back to what Leon had said. Prism powder doesn’t work on humans. That must be why it didn’t affect me or Rafinha. Did Cyrene’s innate trust in people let an enemy into her ranks?

Inglis didn’t think so. Cyrene was a perceptive woman. Even if it seemed like a dangerous plan, she may well have let her guard down around Mimosa precisely to unravel her hatred, hoping someday she’d understand. Inglis considered that too naive, though, if it had led to this.

“Aha ha ha ha ha!”

Cyrene fired a blast of heat at the laughing Mimosa, vaporizing her upper body as her legs fell to the ground. A swift, brutal end.

“Why? Why would she do all that, just to get herself killed?!” Rafinha shouted, tears in her eyes.

“Logic doesn’t matter for grudges that deep.”

“But Cyrene wasn’t even the one who hurt her son!”

“Mimosa probably considered none of the Highlanders blameless.”

“That’s too tragic!”

“You may be right, but we can’t focus on that right now. Let’s stop Cyrene! I’ll handle her. You go take on the other magicite beasts!”

“Okay,” Rafinha said, trailing off before she asserted, “but please save her somehow. Please!”

“I’ll try. Let’s go.”

Inglis and Rafinha leaped from the roof to the courtyard.

“Everyone, get out of here!” Inglis shouted, darting in front of Cyrene. “We’ll deal with this!”

Rafinha loosed arrows of light at the magicite beasts as she called out. “Even if you’re a knight, run away!”

Inglis was confident someone had fed the rats of the castle some prism powder as well. There weren’t many left at this point; Rafinha could handle them on her own.

“Graaaaah!”

Cyrene let out a mournful cry as she turned her fist toward Inglis. Inglis stood still, awaiting the attack. If I dodge, who knows where the beam will hit? Better to reduce the collateral damage by blocking it!

“Haaaaaaaaah!” Inglis activated Aether Shell, and a cold light washed over her.

Cyrene retaliated with another beam of heat.

“Please, stop!” Inglis raised her hand to ward off the attack. As it met her hand, it twisted around and shot off into the sky. Without any special power, the pain would have been excruciating. Thankfully, she was able to wrap herself in aether and deflect the beams. Twice, then a third time, Cyrene fired at Inglis, but each beam twisted around the girl before disappearing into the starry yonder.

“Graaaaah!”

Next, Cyrene fired a fusillade aimed not at Inglis, but at the trees and buildings behind her, intending to bury her in rubble.

“Oh no you don’t!” Before the beam could strike, Inglis threw herself in front of it. “Cyrene! If you can hear me, please stop!”

Cyrene replied with a broad spray of fire.

“Ngh! Haaaaaaaaah!” As an uncountable mass of beams sprayed forth, Inglis blocked each and every one in a display that looked less like combat and more like a beautiful but intense dance, like a goddess’s reverie in the moonlight.

The knights were so entranced that, rather than fleeing, they stopped to stare.

“I-Incredible! She’s amazing!”

“It’s like there are dozens of her...”

“H-How beautiful. Am I dreaming?”

Inglis glanced over at the knights and shook her head. “Don’t just stand around gawking! Get out of here!”

Inglis returned her focus to Cyrene as a golden spear pierced through the beast’s shoulder. Rushing toward them was a beautiful, crimson-haired woman—the hieral menace Sistia.

Sistia sprung from the ground, striking again.

“Graaaaah!”

Cyrene roared in agony as the spear struck home. Purple blood erupted from the wound.

“Drop dead!” Sistia bellowed.

“Wait, stop!” Inglis dove, trying to stop the follow-up hail of thrusts from hitting Cyrene, and slammed Sistia into the wall.

“Ugh...?! What are you doing?! Stay out of my way! I didn’t come here to fight you! Let me finish her off before this gets any worse!”

“You’re with the Steelbloods, aren’t you?”

“What’s it matter to you?”

Inglis clenched her fist and grit her teeth. “If I had dealt with you then... Maybe I should now!” she growled.

A voice suddenly sounded from behind Inglis, and a black-gloved hand caught her wrist. “No, it wouldn’t have changed anything. We always carry Prism Powder with us. Mimosa had it long before I arrived. This wasn’t your fault.”

Inglis whipped her head around to see a man.

“She moved on her own initiative after seeing the rebel knights fail,” he continued, “no matter the cost to herself. I must admit—I admire her determination.”

“Who the hell are you?!” Inglis shouted.

He was wearing a strange outfit: a black mask on his face and a black cloak on his body. Inglis only had his voice and build to go on, discerning he was a man from those alone. His voice, while muffled by the mask, sounded strangely familiar.

“I am the leader of the Steelblood Front,” he announced. “I need no name. Call me what you will. I am here to protect this land.” He had no need for further introduction.

“So you’re protecting even the knights?” Inglis asked.

“Precisely. The...removal...of the Highlander was Mimosa’s decision. No one else should suffer for it.”

“And neither should Cyrene!”

“There is no way to return a magicite beast to what it once was. Or did you have some sort of plan?”

“I’m trying to figure that out now. So stay out of my way.”

“I’m not here to play your game!” Sistia rushed at Cyrene again.

“Wait!” Inglis gave chase, only for the black-masked man to step between them. “Out of my way!”

Inglis wound up a strike, charged with her Aether Shell, to remove him from her path. It would be powerful enough to knock out even a hieral menace in one blow.

But he caught her fist.

The clang of hand on hand echoed all around them.

“Wh—?!”

“Ghhh—! Such a powerful blow!”

His hand bounced back, but that was all. Just a brush from his palm had absorbed all the energy Inglis put into her punch. This was the first time she had ever met someone who could take an Aether Shell-enhanced punch.

There’s still so much in this world I haven’t seen. Even people like him! It was a wonderful, fascinating realization. Every bit of her warrior’s instinct was screaming out to her that this was her perfect opponent. Right now, though, she needed to stop Sistia! “Out of my way!”

“Sorry, but I can’t let you do that!”

Inglis let loose a fierce flurry of blows, but the black-masked man was able to fend her off by focusing on his defense. Holding her at a standstill was enough to accomplish his goals.

Meanwhile, Sistia closed in on Cyrene. “Got you— Guh?!” Before she could land a blow, she was forced to evade a hail of arrows of light.

“I won’t let you! Cyrene’s my friend!” Rafinha had fired the volley which forced Sistia to hold back.

“Then I’ll take you down first!” Sistia turned toward Rafinha.

Three new voices chimed in.

“Lady Cyrene!”

“Lady Cyrene, are you okay?!”

“What happened? Did you get hurt?”

Rino, Miyumi, and Chico—the adorable orphans Cyrene had taken in—were all crying out for her.

Inglis felt her heart race. They still haven’t evacuated?!

The orphans recognized Cyrene even as a magicite beast and ran to her to see if she was okay. However, not even they were safe from the beast she had become.

“Rino! Miyumi! Chico! Run away!” Rafinha called out, her voice thick with worry.

“Curses! Sistia, save them!”

“Got it!” As fast as Sistia was, though, there was no way she could make it in time.

Cyrene’s hand wavered, almost like she was trying to hold back, but that lasted only for a moment. She fired another beam—at herself.

“Ah—!” Inglis gasped.

That one motion told an entire story. Somewhere, deep inside, Cyrene was still Cyrene. Trying to protect the orphans, even if it meant taking her own life. She had said she wanted to protect the denizens of the surface. In the end, that was obviously true.

The idea was so idealistic that I wasn’t sure until now whether she meant it. But if she really is that kind of person, I can’t let her die here!

“Aether Pierce!” In no time at all, Inglis fired a concentrated shot of aether from her finger, striking Cyrene’s palm and throwing off her aim. Cyrene’s attack, the beam of heat, shot off into the sky.

“Hmm! Not bad!” the black-masked man said, impressed.

“Good job, Chris!” Rafinha cheered. She, no doubt, grasped onto this remaining chance for a happy enough ending.

“What are you doing?!” Sistia scowled at Inglis. “She was going to finish herself off! She knows what’s best for her now. Just let her do it!”

Even ignoring Sistia, Inglis still didn’t have a plan. However, she knew if she let Cyrene die, she’d regret it. Besides, she couldn’t let that tragedy unfold in front of Rafinha. They had plans. They were going to have enough money to eat their way all the way to the capital! They were going to go see the frozen Prismer in Ahlemin! If Inglis didn’t find a way to make this right, that happy future wouldn’t be the same.

As Inglis thought, she had a flash of inspiration: It may not solve everything, but it’ll help! 

“I have an idea! Draw Cyrene’s attention without hurting her! There’s something I want to try! If it doesn’t work, I won’t stop you, okay?” Inglis called out to Sistia and the black-masked man.

“Who gave you the right to order me around?!” shot back Sistia.

“Wait, Sistia,” he interrupted, extending an arm to hold her back. He turned to Inglis. “Hmmm... You may try it. But whether it works or not, you’ll leave this town immediately. Do we have a deal? I don’t want you interfering when we destroy the floating circle.”

“Okay,” Inglis said. “It’s a pity we won’t get to duel, though.”

“A pity? I’d far rather fight side-by-side with you instead. Let’s go, Sistia! Draw her attention without attacking for now!”

“Yes, sir!”

It seems like Sistia’s willing to trust his orders implicitly. Inglis watched the hieral menace move without hesitation. Cyrene should be safe while I try to make this work.

“Chris! What are you doing? Can I help?”

“It’s fine, Rafinha. You’ve already helped more than enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Watch, and you’ll see. I’m going to stop Cyrene.”

“Okay! Good luck, Chris!”

“Here I go!”

Inglis closed her eyes and focused. Just as she’d done before, she began to convert her aether into mana. Not just some of it, though—all of it. Every ounce of aether she could muster, transformed to mana!

“Haaaaaaaaah!” Streams of mana evaporated from her as she charged her power. It may have seemed like a waste, but she had more up her sleeve.

Ignoring her sudden exhaustion, Inglis moved on to the next step: controlling that mana. Runes were a way to control mana in a constant flow. Even modern humans, who couldn’t sense or understand it, could harness that power so long as they had a Rune. Artifacts took that flow and let their wielders fight as if slinging magic—or at least that’s what the ancients had called such a force. If Inglis could control the flow of her own mana, she could essentially do the same thing.

By twelve, Inglis had learned to convert her aether to mana. And these past few years, she’d been practicing using that mana. Aether was difficult to control, especially when balancing multiple manifestations. For example, she couldn’t use Aether Strike while maintaining Aether Shell. But compared to aether, mana was weak and easy to control.

So maybe, just maybe, she could channel the mana she’d shed while maintaining the flow of aether. The thoughts of what momentary power she’d be able to bring to fruition had driven her earlier practice sessions. Watching Rafinha use her Artifact, she’d memorized carefully where the mana flowed and where it pooled. Then Inglis had tried over and over to replicate the process for herself.

It had taken nearly two years from her first attempt to her first success. The lowest-class Artifacts had the simplest flows, and that success had finally come with one. Now, she was approaching the abilities of a middle-class Artifact—not enough for a powerful effect like a Gift, but enough to manifest spurts of flame or shards of ice.

Inglis opened her eyes. Her mana-weaving was complete. Channeling the last of her aether into mana, she let loose!

“Freeze!”

Crrrrrack!

A cold wind swept through the courtyard as ice began to form around Cyrene’s feet. In the blink of an eye, it washed over her now-gigantic body, freezing her completely in a block of ice.

“Phew, it worked.” Inglis sighed in relief. Mana burned a lot more energy, for a lot smaller of an effect, than aether did. Creating that pillar of ice had taken nearly every bit of strength she could muster.

“A-Amazing! It’s huge!” Rafinha exclaimed.

Sistia gasped. “That’s tremendous...”

Even the black-masked man seemed impressed. “Remarkable, managing that with mana.”

“Uh, Chris... I know that slowed her down, but will she be okay?”

“Magicite beasts are resilient. When the ice melts, she’ll probably start moving again as if nothing happened. So let’s move her somewhere far away. We can’t let her stay here. Once we get her where she can’t do any harm, we can—”

“I don’t know if we can move something that big.” Rafinha gaped at the huge block of ice. Doubt clouded her eyes.

Inglis sighed in exhaustion. “We don’t exactly have a choice in the matter. Let me rest a little, and then I’ll carry her.”

“Are you sure you can manage it? We’d rather you were gone as soon as possible,” the masked man interjected.

“You’re just going to have to wait. Deal with it.”

“How rude. I wasn’t trying to needle you, I was going to make her more easy to carry.”

“Hmm? How would you do that?”

“Just watch.” The black-masked man approached the pillar of ice encasing Cyrene and brushed it with his hand.

Pale, bluish smoke began to rise from where his palm stroked the ice. As it faded into the night air, it began to glow...

Inglis’s jaw gaped. “Aether?!” This was the first time she had encountered someone else who could manipulate aether. Was he a divine knight too? Even though becoming one required the patronage of a god?

So the gods still took mortal form and lived on this earth? She’d sensed their presence many times in her past life, but not once since being reborn. Apart from Alistia, who had made Inglis her divine knight and then granted her a second life, there were other gods as well. But a divine knight was half-human, half-god. Surely, if she focused, she could sense their presence watching over the world—yet not a whiff of it was to be found.

Had the world, and the people in it, been allowed to stand on their own two feet? Had they simply been abandoned? She didn’t know, but the presence of another divine knight suggested that there was more to the story for her to learn.

What’s more, the flows of aether around him were completely alien to Inglis—elaborate, even.

“If I sap the force of her aether without changing its composition, she’ll keep her shape,” he explained.

The rising columns of aether smoke exploded. Within the pillar of ice, Cyrene began to transform. Just as he’d said it would, the pillar began to shrink, without distorting.

“Ooh! Wow! She’s tiny now!” It was hard to miss the relief in Rafinha’s voice.

Inglis drew in her breath. “Amazing!” It was a level of control Inglis had no hope of replicating. Instead of controlling only his own aether, the black-masked man was able to reach out and weave that of the magicite beast and the ice block holding it in place. It was less an amputation and more like delicate cuts here and there, leaving their original forms intact. Something that would be impossible without seeing, and comprehending, each of the complex flows of aether that made up a living thing.

In the end, a clump of ice containing the beast that was Cyrene, small enough to hold in the palm of one’s hand, lay at the masked figure’s feet. After he picked it up, he handed it to Inglis. “She should be easier to carry now. And with most of her aether scattered to the winds, it would be nearly impossible to restore her to her original form. This also means she won’t be able to go on any more rampages.”

“Don’t take this as thanks, but I’m impressed. It’s amazing that you were able to—”

“It would have been very difficult if her aether had not been held in place. I thank you for freezing her.”

Inglis frowned. “Really, I wish I could do that.”

“It’s not a matter of power. The power advantage is all yours—my talent is more in technique. There’s no way I could manage that sort of output.”

“I want to have power and technique!”

“Ha ha. A bold ambition indeed! But off with you, before you decide that you don’t negotiate with guerillas.”

“But what of the people of the manor? What of the town?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll protect them. Our enemy is Highland and Highland alone.”

“Understood.”

“Then, until we meet again.”

“As foes, hopefully.” Inglis gave the black-masked man a challenging glare.

“The beauty of an angel, concealing something else indeed...” Even he seemed to be taken aback.

“Let’s go, Rani.” Inglis motioned. “We need to get Cyrene out of this ice.”

“Yeah! Then...!” Rafinha curtsied slightly to the black-masked man, and hastily followed Inglis. She couldn’t quite bring herself to thank the man who had supplied Mimosa the Prism Powder, but she was still relieved that, even after Cyrene’s transformation, they’d been able to keep her alive.

◆◇◆

A short time later...

Departing Nova, Inglis and Rafinha made their way toward the capital. They had almost reached Ahlemin, where the frozen Prismer awaited them.

Drip...drop...

A drizzle of rain tickled Inglis’s nose as she sat on the driver’s bench. “Oh... It’s raining.”

Not the Prism Flow, just a normal rain. But it could change at any time. So it was best to stop and take shelter.

“It sure is! Let’s wait it out, Chris!”

“Yeah. We can take shelter under that tree.” Inglis turned their wagon toward a massive old tree. “Though it’s no fun having to stop when we’re so close to Ahlemin.”

“Oh well. But we can afford to take it easy! There’s still plenty of time until we have to be at the academy.” Rafinha slouched onto the driver’s bench. “Why don’t we wrap ourselves in blankets and wait under the canopy? I don’t want to catch a cold.”

As Rafinha spoke, something began to squirm at the hemline of Inglis’s top, and a face appeared from her cleavage—the tiny magicite beast Cyrene.

Shrunk by the black-masked man, she’d sprung back to life as soon as the ice melted. She was small, adorable—but still a magicite beast. She couldn’t speak, and she was still aggressive. Nonetheless, she seemed to recognize Inglis and Rafinha and gradually grew accustomed to their presence. As they had continued their travels, this version of Cyrene had become something of a pet to them.

The two had taken to calling her Rin, a short version of Cyrene. And unfortunately for Inglis, she had decided on a favorite hiding place. Rafinha didn’t provide quite enough reassuring shelter, but Inglis, on the other hand...

“Don’t squirm like that, Rin. It tickles.”

Rin tilted her head before burrowing again. 

Squirm, squirm, squirm!

She burrowed even farther than before!

“Eek! Stop it, Rin! C’mon, Rani, make her stop!”

“Oh, I’d love to take over, but I can’t disturb her when she’s so comfy. Keep up the good work, Chris!”

“C’mon, have a little sympathy!”

As Rin gradually calmed down, Rafinha’s impish grin faded, and she sighed.

“What’s wrong, Rani?”

“Hey, Chris. Rin was a really good person when she was Cyrene, right?”

“Yes, she was.”

“But her superiors in Highland wanted to take the whole town for themselves?”

“Precisely. She wanted to stop them.”

“Didn’t the Steelbloods say they were going to protect Nova?”

“Well, they said they were going to destroy the floating circle.”

“I can’t even tell what’s right or wrong anymore. It’s all so confusing.”

“Sounds like this is a part of growing up.”

“Is this really what it’s like? Don’t you... Aren’t you worried about it?”

“Not really. I’m not going to think about it too hard. If I focus on getting stronger, what is there to worry about? How about you, Rani?”

“Aha ha ha. That’s exactly the kind of thing I expected you to say. That’s not really like me, though.”

“Then worry all you want. I’ll always be there for you.” Inglis reached over and stroked Rafinha’s hair.

“Mm... Thanks.”

Eventually, the rain passed, and Inglis and Rafinha arrived at Ahlemin.