The Woman Worshipped as The Goddess of War
Helena Steiner. The General praised as a war hero and Rhoadseria’s Ivory Goddess of War. But despite having reached that lofty station at the peak of national defense, Helena lived in a village bordering on a forest, a short distance away from the capital Pireas.
Of course, since she had once been a general, her house was by no means small or modest. But if anyone were asked if it was befitting of her station, anyone would likely cock their heads in apprehension.
As pale moonlight illuminated the surrounding trees, Helena lay in bed, once again tormented.
Just how many times had she dreamed this dream?
“Mother, it hurts… Why…? Why is this happening to me?”
Before Helena’s eyes was the visage of her beloved daughter, lost long ago. Her eyes empty, bereft of the light of will. Her dress was brutishly torn apart, the marks of the savage violation she’d endured visible on her flesh. The sight tore at Helena’s heart.
“Wait, it’ll all be all right. I promise, I’ll save you!”
Helena cried out in her dream, her expression contorting savagely as she desperately rushed to her daughter’s side. But her extended hand only groped through air.
Helena had never seen her daughter’s end. Even the girl’s corpse was never returned to her. In the eyes of the slave merchant that abducted her, a girl’s corpse was nothing more than trash that held no value for sale.
And so, the image of her daughter that appeared in her dreams was a figment of her imagination, pieced together from the information Helena gained by torturing the slave merchant. And the girl’s image melted into the air, disappearing from sight. And in her place appeared her husband, carrying his severed head under his arm.
His expression was filled with hatred and agony. One too far removed from the gentle smile the husband she loved always had.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
All Helena could do when faced with her beloved was apologize. He had worked as a middle-class official in the royal castle. All who knew him commented on his gentle demeanor. He wasn’t praised much for his achievements, nor was he of remarkable pedigree. He was simply one of the hundreds, if not thousands of officials working in the country.
There could have been only one cause for his gruesome murder. And that was the fact he had married Helena. And so, Helena apologized time and again, begging the phantoms in her dreams for forgiveness.
“It’s morning…”
Illuminated by the gentle sunlight filtering in through the window, Helena slowly rose from her bed, her hair clinging to her forehead from cold sweat. It was a morning like any other in her manor. The morning sun shined brightly outside, but Helena’s heart was clouded over with thick darkness that seemed to almost contrast the world outside.
“Ugh… I scratched myself again…”
She’d likely inadvertently clenched her fingers as she was tormented by her nightmare, because several of her fingernails were broken, forming red stains over the bedsheets. Helena took a bell that was set next to her bed and rang it.
“Good morning, milady.”
“Yes, good morning. I’m sorry, but could you bring me the medicine box?”
Instructing the maid that was summoned by the bell’s ringing, Helena then slowly closed her eyes.
Nothing’s changed… All I want is justice. But how long? How long will I have to wait for the chance to present itself?
To bring destruction to the source of all her troubles, Albrecht Hodram and his family. That was Helena’s only wish. To achieve that, she kept her darkness hidden as she honed her claws and fangs in preparation, believing a chance would someday come.
Riches, fame, even her unwavering loyalty to Kingdom of Rhoadseria, held no value for Helena now. An emotion that bordered on obsession swayed in her heart.
A life of sorrow and regret. But on this day, over ten years after that atrocity, the gears of Helena’s stilled fate slowly began to turn again…
“Pardon me.”
The maid she’d instructed to bring the medicine box over opened the door with a knock.
“Yes, thank you… Oh, what’s that?”
As she took the medicine box from the maid’s hands, Helena’s gaze fell on a letter she was holding.
“Yes, this was delivered here urgently this morning.”
The maid said and handed over the letter.
“I see, thank you. You can leave now.”
The moment she saw the emblem carved into the letter’s wax seal, Helena’s expression changed slightly and she asked the maid to leave. The crest of a crown and a rose– the mark of the Rhoadserian royal family. And Helena wasn’t so detached so as to not pick up on the meaning behind that.
What is this…? Why would I get a letter from the royal family now, after all this time…?
Everyone had regarded Helena as a person who was finished. In fact, in the ten or so years since she retired from her position as general, she’d never once received a letter from the royalty or any other high-ranking officials.
Is the tide beginning to change?
Helena’s intuition as a soldier who survived many battlefields picked up on something. Taking a knife in her shivering hands, Helena broke the wax seal on the letter.
The Woman Distinguished as The Princess’s Sword
It was in the early hours of a certain afternoon.
The place was the capital of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria, Pireas. In the training area of the grand castle towering over the city was one young, black-haired woman, swinging an iron blade resembling a katana.
Her name was Meltina Lecter. The child of a knight family that had served Rhoadseria since ages old, she was placed in charge of Princess Lupis’s security. A woman distinguished as the Princess’s sword.
The sound of her rough breathing filled the training area. How long had she been gripping this iron sword? As she stood there clad in metal armor, something like a white stream rose from her body.
Why… Why did this happen? Do the Gods truly think this to be justice our country deserves?
She’d asked herself this question time and time it again, but every time, she failed to come up with an answer. The only thing dwelling on that question did was to lure her once again into the labyrinth of her own thoughts and strike ripples through her heart.
I wish to guide this country down the right path. That and nothing else…
That emotion filled Meltina’s grip on her sword with might.
The Kingdom of Rhoadseria was one of the three countries making up the western continent’s eastern regions. And true, in terms of territory, it couldn’t match the larger countries like O’ltormea or Helnesgoula. But its history was old and long, and it capitalized on the abundant water and vast plains of its territories through agriculture, making it the lead among its countries when it came to exporting food.
However, the king’s authority grew weaker and weaker while the aristocrats grew stronger. The late King Pharst the Second made efforts to change that, but he did not live to see his desire come to fruition.
The face of the dead king surfaced in Meltina’s mind. He was never a warrior, nor was he an ambitious conqueror. He was a king that cherished harmony, strove for peace and always lent an ear to the voices of his people. He was a ruler who, despite the warlike nature of this world, clung to good faith and did not seek to expand his territories.
Was he a great king who wished for the restoration of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria? Or was he a foolish ruler who sowed the seeds of discord in his land?
There was little doubting that as an individual, he was a man of wonderful disposition. But looking at it another way, it was this very same nature that strengthened the standing of Duke Gelhart, head of the nobles’ faction. Even Meltina, who was well aware of how detached she was from the intricacies of politics and strategy, believed the duke’s power should have been kept in check.
But on the other hand, it was only understandable that in the present state where the royal guard, which stood as the sword of the king, was mostly under the iron first of General Hodram Albrecht, it was only natural that resisting the king’s rule was impossible. And so, until his final moments, the king could only observe the conflict between the two factions from outside the loop.
In the end, my only choice is to grow stronger…
Following Pharst the Second’s death, Lupis remained the sole successor to the throne when the illegitimate child appeared. Frankly speaking, Meltina couldn’t discern if it was true or not. Under the pretense of listening to the voices of his people, Pharst the Second left the capital for a few weeks yearly, and he was an adult man with a sexual attraction to women.
Putting aside where he met the woman that would become the mother of this potential illegitimate child, the possibility wasn’t zero.
But that’s not the issue. The problem is that she made claim to the throne…
An illegitimate child taking the throne wasn’t all that unusual. At times, it even serves as a diplomatic playing card, so one couldn’t easily disregard that option. At least normally, there was no problem with an illegitimate child living a life of luxury in the royal castle.
But everything changes when they declare their claim to the throne with the late king’s will, and with the backing of the nobles’ faction, at that.
The illegitimate child has Duke Gelhart behind them, but Princess Lupis only has me… A woman who’s only good for swinging a sword…
The recollection of the scene that took place the other day, when she went to ask the influential members of the neutral faction to lend their assistance to Princess Lupis, filled her heart with anger and frustration. In order to truly become the ruler of Rhoadseria, Lupis needed backing. Meltina acted from that belief, but the result was terrible.
We might not be good enough…
She wanted to be able to claim that was what right is just, and say that what was mistaken was a mistake. Meltina’s words stemmed from that belief, but Count Bergstone ignored them all too easily. He didn’t insult or scoff at her, but Count Bergstone certainly thought her beliefs to be laughable. As if to say they carried absolutely no value. Meltina of course realized how hackneyed her words were, but she had no other choices.
Her sword rung in a shrill voice as the gusts of wind resulting from her swings rattled the walls of the training area. This was the fruit of intense training and martial thaumaturgy. A slash capable matching that of Mikhail Vanash, praised as the greatest swordsman in Rhoadseria.
Someone… It doesn’t matter who. Please, just change this situation.
Meltina resolved to devote her sword for the Kingdom of Rhoadseria, and continued to hone her skills ever since. Because she realized there was nothing more she could do.
And within a few days, the turning point Meltina wished for finally arrived.
The Woman Known as The Crimson Lion
Among the three countries securing the eastern end of the western continent, the Kingdom of Myest prided itself on its exceptional economic prowess and having the largest navy. In the back alleys of Pherzaad, the city that functioned as the beating heart of the country’s economy, was one dirty pub frequented by mercenaries.
“Phew, that hits the spot.”
Drinking down an ice-cold beer in one gulp, the woman vigorously put her mug down on the table. The golden liquid dripping from her lips dripped down to her plentiful cleavage. Coupled with her natural good looks and the light brown shade of her skin, that made it clear how active of a life she led, made for quite the sweet, sensual sight.
And with the eyes of every man in the establishment fixed on her, the woman wordlessly presented the empty mug to the pub’s owner, silently signaling him to hurry up and bring the next one over.
“I see you can hold your liquor as well as ever, Crimson Lion.”
With those words, a lone mercenary placed one of the mugs he was carrying with both hands in front of her and took the seat opposite of her without asking for permission.
“Oh, it’s you.”
Sneaking a single glance at the man, the woman took a swing from the glass in front of her without another word. The man may be bad news, but beer was beer.
More liquid dripped from her lips and onto her skin and clothes, accentuating her well-formed bosoms. The man’s gaze was naturally drawn to those two hills. Sensing the man’s eyes on her, the woman scoffed once.
“What? Aren’t ya too old to wanna drink from a woman’s teat? Stop lookin’ at ‘em like that.”
Her tone could be summed up as ostentatious, as strong a proof as could be of her strong-minded personality. But despite that, she didn’t truly want to shoo the man away. If she truly saw the man as a nuisance, she would’ve thrown punches in his direction, not words and glances, or perhaps would have simply resorted to drawing the sword sheathed at her waist.
After all, her skill was much higher than the man’s. And not just him; out of all the men in this pub, one could count the amount of people capable of matching her on one hand.
But this man, who maintained his attitude despite being fully aware of that, had to have been quite the brave one.
“You’re in quite a foul mood. I hear you’ve been taking jobs at the southern kingdom recently, but did something happen there?”
He was likely right on the money, as she clicked her tongue in annoyance at his words.
“Anyone tell ya that yer one nasty man? Stop saying stuff that spoils the booze… Just thinking about that pig’s face pisses me off.”
The last words she whispered contained a complaint at her employer. Seeing her reaction, the man couldn’t hold back a smile.
“Did I say something funny to make ya smirk like that? Huh?”
“I was just thinking, it’s not often I hear you complain about work.”
Those words made a bitter expression surface on the woman’s face, to which she responded by swinging up her newly emptied mug.
“Owner, gimme more of the same! And be snappy about it!”
“So, y’see… I’ve been looking to earn some money in ways except for war, at least for a while.”
“I see, so that’s why you came to Myest… If you’re looking for work in the eastern side of the continent, the capitals of the kingdom would be the best places to look.”
The man, who had listened to the woman’s gripes up until now, poked a fork into a fried potato they had to snack on as they drank and shoveled it into his mouth with a deep sigh.
“Shit, it’s like there isn’t a single decent employer out there, you know? Why is it that only good-for-nothing scum gets to throw their weight around?”
“That’s just life in this rotten world, ya know? Grand majority of people are scum.”
The fact of the matter was that most of the nobles and other people in power were haughty and proud. The fact they put out the money to hire people was a heavy one, but their demands were growing unreasonable. The guild had grown rapidly stronger over the last few years, but people still saw mercenaries as disposable pawns.
“Don’t you have connections with some noble you could use to pull a few favors?”
With a sorrowful expression that mixed admiration and resignation, the man shook his head slowly.
“It’ll be hard… Especially for a group like yours, you know…?”
Finding an owner worth working for. That would mean mercenaries would be treated as knights were. This was without a doubt what anyone working as a mercenary would wish for; but at the same time, it was an aspiration that was the least likely to come true.
This was a world of war, after all.
And while this made it easier for mercenaries, who fought for a living, to find work, it was also a world that offered chances for those of lowly means to scramble their way up the ladder. But on the other hand, one’s abilities didn’t enable them to climb as high as they wished.
Skilled people were wary of those around them and had a way of standing in the way of others’ success. Many spared no effort in sabotaging the efforts of those more skilled than them. And one’s master could be a problematic factor, as well. There were thousands of noble houses of differing classes and ranks across the western continent, but few would pick the right people to work for them without regard for pedigree.
It was proof that the kind of sagas minstrels sing of where heroes rise from obscurity were all too difficult to make a reality. The grumbling woman in front of him stood head and shoulders above others in terms of skill, enough so that even if she were born to the house of some high-ranking knight, she could have become a general by now.
And that’s why she…
He felt pity for this woman well up in his heart. The skills of the woman who head earned the moniker of Crimson Lion among the mercenaries was beyond what a normal noble could control. And her attitude and personality would seem too cheeky from their perspective, too, forming a large gap between them.
“Well, I figured I’d just forget about all the shitty stuff today. I’ll keep you company.”
The woman smirked at his words and turned an upward glance toward him.
“Ooh? Think you can drink me down, do you?”
“Stop being stupid. What kind of lunatic would try something as crazy as that…? You’re like a bottomless keg.”
Exchanging jives, the two clicked their mugs together.
At the time, the woman wasn’t aware yet of the great shift her fate was about to take. Her name was Lione. The woman known as the Crimson Lion.
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