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 selfimportant 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 allconsuming 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 demihumans 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 demihumans. 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.
THE LOVE SONG OF THE SWORD DEVIL
Seventh Stanza
1
At that time, a certain subject was frequently discussed by the members of Zergev Squadron. It was a matter that struck at the very heart of the squadron, one every member felt deeply and personally concerned about. It would not be too much to describe it as a dramatic change.
"Laslow, fall back!" Wilhelm ordered the soldier, catching the battle-ax with his sword. Until a second earlier, the man he had spoken to had been all but cornered by the enemy's brutal attack. When Wilhelm saw this, he was there faster than the wind, intercepting the enemy's blow and ordering Laslow to safety.
As his squad mate gulped down air, Wilhelm forced the enemy back. Overwhelmed by the Sword Devil's sheer force of will, the ax-wielding beast-man took a stab to the thigh, howling as he toppled to the ground. This was the moment for Wilhelm to leap on him, strike the finishing blow— "Give me your hand. Get to the rear as quick as you can, idiot."
But Wilhelm didn't pursue his crippled foe. Instead, he gave his wounded ally his shoulder to lean on. Surprised by the strength in his small frame, the hulking soldier stuttered out an apology.
"I-I'm sorry, Vice Captain!"
"If you have time to apologize, use it to train better. Then we won't have to leave a hole in our front line."
His words sounded harsh, but he moved carefully as he supported the wounded man. Other squad members covered their withdrawal, and once he had deposited Laslow safely in the rear, the Sword Devil went back to the battle with all speed.
Then, cutting a swath through the enemy forces, he shouted, "Don't act like a bunch of green rookies, Zergev Squadron! Look them in the eye and fight!"
With this exhortation to both himself and his comrades, Wilhelm dashed forward. Countless silver flashes followed, each one felling an enemy soldier, the Sword Devil single-handedly raising the morale of his men.
The name of Wilhelm Trias, the Sword Devil, was so widely known and respected that it was said to be the hope of the royal army and the despair of the Demi-human Alliance.
"I can't believe the change in that man… It makes me a little ill."
"Ah, don't be so hard on him, Miss Carol. It just goes to show that even Wilhelm has a good side. But I've seen him grow up, and I have to admit, it does feel a bit strange!" Bordeaux laughed heartily. With the help of his battle-ax, he had decimated the enemies in one part of the frontline.
Carol all but ignored Bordeaux's guffaws, fending off an encroaching enemy soldier with her sword.
"I've known him since before he changed, too," she went on. "I'm not trying to be cold. I just wonder what he's planning, acting like that…and when he'll show his true colors."
"—"
Carol had a look of disgust in her eyes. Beside her, Grimm pounded his shield as if to speak. His usually friendly face was full of reproach as he shook his head at Carol.
"I'm sorry, Grimm. But I just can't get used to it…"
"There's lots of opinions about the new Wilhelm in the squadron. But at the end of the day, everyone pretty much agrees with me and Grimm. It's a real sudden change…but not a bad one."
"…I do know that."
"Heck, they say 'fire and a hammer are all it takes to temper steel.' He can be prickly, but I guess he can also change pretty quick when he has a reason. It'd be interesting if that reason were a woman…"
"Erk…"
"What's wrong? You know something I don't?" Bordeaux gave her an intrigued look, but Carol shook her head vigorously, a troubled expression coming over her neat features.
"I don't know any— This puts me in a difficult position vis-à-vis my assigned duties. Please understand."
"What you mean is you do know something about it. But I get it. I won't press you."
"I'd appreciate that. Even so, I just can't get used to it…"
Carol watched as Wilhelm continued to protect his allies and cut down the enemy. In the midst of violent sword battles, he would help his squad mates and deliver words of advice. It was a profound transformation.
If it had caused him to lose his focus and had negatively impacted his abilities in battle, that would have made it a problem, but Wilhelm's prowess had not faded in the least—if anything, he might have been even more capable than before.
"—"
"I know, Grimm, I know! We'll keep pushing the enemy back."
Let's not let Wilhelm show us up, Grimm had said. The two of them advanced to the front line. Bordeaux watched them go, resting his ax across both shoulders.
"Speaking of changes," he said, "I don't think you're the same person you were when you first met Grimm, Miss Carol. But I guess maybe you don't realize it. Ahh, damn it, you're all so young!"
Bordeaux laughed wildly and looked to the side, hoping for someone to agree with him. But it was just force of habit; the man he half expected to see standing just a step behind him wasn't there. Bordeaux touched the wounds on his face and cracked his neck. Then he bellowed, "Hey, save some for me! We'll destroy all these barbarians!"
After the fight at the castle, Bordeaux Zergev had continued to improve his technique with his ax. Now, he showed the fruits of all that practice, wading into the fight even though he was himself a commander. It was a battle that encapsulated both what had changed about Zergev Squadron and what hadn't.
2
After their assigned period of defensive duty ended, Zergev Squadron returned to the capital for the first time in two weeks.
They arrived in the city late at night, and most of the squad members would probably spend their first day of leave asleep. But Wilhelm, who had perhaps fought harder than anyone else in the squadron, woke early and left the barracks.
He walked through the crisp, cool air, his beloved sword hanging at his side. When the town guard saw him, they straightened up and gave respectful salutes. Wilhelm waved a hand casually at them and headed for the castle town. Soon he would be at the plaza in the poor district. They had no set date or time. They didn't know what their plans would be, and Wilhelm himself had no specific days off.
Hence, it was down to luck whether the person he was looking for would be there or not. And on this day…
"Oh, Wilhelm. You made it today."
Theresia, who had arrived first, turned around when she noticed Wilhelm. The wind picked up her long red hair, and she smiled at him. Wilhelm raised an eyebrow. The source of his bemusement was the place she was standing: right in the middle of the field of flowers.
"I know that look," she said. "'What's this girl up to?' you're wondering."
"Well, thank you for putting my feelings into words. What are you up to,
'this girl'?"
"I'd say that's just the question. What am I up to?" Theresia said innocently. Then suddenly, she raised one bare foot. The hem of her dress shifted with the motion, revealing a pale thigh. Wilhelm quickly averted his eyes.
"What's this?" Theresia said. "Is that too stimulating for a purehearted young man?"
"Stop playing tomboy, dummy. I told you before, this place isn't safe. If you leave yourself vulnerable, you'll pay for it eventually."
"Oh, I'm not worried about that. After all, I have a big, bad swordsman with me, don't I?" she said with a wink. The gesture caused Wilhelm's voice to catch in his throat. He ran a hand nervously through his chestnut hair as he dutifully approached her.
"Okay, out with it. What is it you're doing? Rediscovering your inner child and playing barefoot in the dirt?"
"H-how rude! I can rediscover my inner child if I want. And anyway, I'm not playing in the dirt! You're completely wrong! Blind! Insensitive!"
"Gosh, why'd you have to lay it on so thick?"
She really was a woman of intense emotions. She laughed from the heart, but she got sincerely angry as well. He genuinely believed he would never get tired of her laughter and shouting, her smiles and her frowns. The thought left even Wilhelm a little exasperated with himself.
"The correct answer is…I'm planting seeds for some new flowers!" "New seeds?"
While he'd stood transfixed by her profile, Theresia had grown impatient and had blurted out the answer herself. But it only caused Wilhelm to regard her curiously.
Theresia pointed at the field and said, "Yes, that's right. The seasons will change soon, so the flowers have to change, too, don't they? I'm sorry to see my flowers wither, but I can raise new ones for the new season."
"Raise them? I've never even seen you water this thing."
"I-it's true I mostly let them take care of themselves, but I'm the one who gave them that first push! And I plan to take good care of them this time. So maybe you could be so kind as to not sneer?"
Theresia always had to give back double what she got when she felt she'd been wronged. At the end of this tirade, however, Theresia gazed at the field and added, "Besides. If there aren't any flowers here, I won't have an excuse to come anymore."
"—"
Wilhelm caught his breath. An excuse. It had been their unspoken understanding when they met here.
"—"
Theresia was coming to check on her flowers, Wilhelm to practice his sword work. But their facade had already all but broken down. They more or less neglected their alleged objectives—Theresia mostly, and Wilhelm entirely. It was not, of course, that Wilhelm had any less reverence for his sword. It was simply that now his reason for coming here was Theresia.
Both of them knew it, surely. Yet they never said it aloud, and continued to meet this way. It must have been from fear of change.
Even now, as he continued to be pounded like steel, to be reshaped, he didn't seem to realize.
Wilhelm turned away, unable to bear her gaze any longer. "You know… there's something I'd like to report to you, too."
"Report?" Theresia looked at him quizzically.
He could feel her eyes on him. "Yeah," he said. "They recognized my deeds in combat. There was talk of some award or something, and…I'm a knight now."
"—"
He could sense her holding her breath. At her reaction, Wilhelm made a fist, careful to keep it where Theresia would not see it. The decisive factor in his promotion to knighthood was that he had helped thwart the demi-human attack on the castle. The change in Wilhelm's behavior after that, along with a recommendation from Bordeaux, had sealed the promotion.
In the past, Wilhelm might have turned down this award, but now he accepted gratefully. He took pride in this proof that his achievements had been recognized. Neither would his conscience let him disdain the efforts of Bordeaux and his other companions to get this for him.
Then there was the fact that being a knight pleased him in his heart of hearts.
"Oh? Congratulations. I guess this brings you one step closer to your dream."
"My dream?"
The thought had been so secret that Theresia's remark took him by surprise.
She put her hand to her mouth as if Wilhelm's wide-eyed look amused her. "You use your sword to protect people, don't you? And a knight is someone who protects people." She looked quite certain about this, and her lips turned up, for some reason, with what he thought was pride.
Finally, it made sense to him. He etched her smile into his memory so that she would always be among those things he was fighting to protect.
3
After visiting Theresia, the sun now high in the sky, Wilhelm headed for the merchants' quarter. The kingdom might have been exhausted by the ongoing civil war, but it didn't seem to make a dent in the avarice of the merchants who went in and out of town. In the whole of the capital, only the commercial quarter still had the same bustling activity as before. The familiar little restaurant was no exception.
"The usual," he said to the girl at the door, then went to a corner seat far in the back. The person he'd come to meet was already sitting there, just pouring himself a drink.
"Drinking at this hour? Pretty ballsy, even for a day off."
Wilhelm took the seat across from the man. Despite Wilhelm's rough words, the man laughed voicelessly and began pouring a drink for the newcomer. He shook his head, and the serving girl brought him water. The man across from Wilhelm raised his glass insistently. Frowning, Wilhelm indulged with a clink of their glasses.
I never thought the day would come when you and I would sit down and drink together.
Once Wilhelm had wetted his lips with that first sip of water, the other man pushed a paper at him with those words written on it. Wilhelm had become accustomed to this, but there was no denying it was inconvenient. He tapped the paper with one finger.
"Me neither. But I'm not drinking. Who would want to drink that swill, anyway?"
It's nice to know that some things about you haven't changed.
Grimm offered this brief sentence and a smile. Wilhelm felt a twinge of guilt, realizing he'd done it again. He was so quick to spiteful speech and aggressive actions. It was a bad habit of his. Despite a desire and an effort to change, such a long-standing part of his personality could not be so easily transformed.
At length, he fell quiet, watching Grimm silently pour himself another drink. Wilhelm let himself be taken in by Grimm's gentleness. He realized, now, how he had been the beneficiary of so many kindnesses.
Unconsciously, Wilhelm touched the sword at his hip, drawing comfort from the familiar feeling. Suddenly, Grimm set the bottle of alcohol on the table, and with his free hand he pointed at Wilhelm's chest.
"—? Oh, the crest. I guess it's because I'm a knight now."
Grimm was looking at the dragon emblem on Wilhelm's left breast. It was a proof of status he had been granted upon promotion to knighthood; the crest bore upon it a Dragon Jewel.
"I guess it's pretty unusual for someone to rise from commoner to knight, but…well, when they found out about my background, it didn't take long for that talk to stop."
Wilhelm had once been seen as a symbol of something to aspire to, a commoner who had risen like a star to the highest ranks. But when it came out that his bloodline was related to Lugunican nobility, many people were even more surprised than when he had become known as the Sword Devil. One's birth has minimal impact on one's skills with the sword, but humans are simply happier if they think they see a reason for the way things are.
"It turns out not much changes when you become a knight. What about you? If you and Carol get together, you'll be part of a famous house. That's a quicker route to the top, if you ask me."
Tired of being interrogated, Wilhelm asked a pointed question of his own. Grimm turned so red that he didn't need to say anything to communicate his embarrassment. He put his glass to his lips as if to indicate that he would offer no comment. Wilhelm's ability to guess more or less what Grimm was thinking from his expressions and gestures was another recent difference.
Once he started paying more attention to what was going on around him, he was surprised to realize how much humans communicated without using words. That was what happened when one took observation skills honed on the battlefield and applied them to everyday life.
Have you told your family about becoming a knight?
"Contacted my family? No, not a word. Frankly, I don't even know how I'd face them. But it's also… Showing up the minute I get a promotion wouldn't look good. I want to at least wait until the civil war is mopped up."
Wilhelm's relationship with his birth family had come to light as a result of his promotion. Surely his family was aware of his rise through the ranks, but that was all the more reason to take care.
You mean like maybe once you're ready to bring home a girl to marry?
"Hrrrft!"
Wilhelm spat out his water at the words in front of him. He shot a glance at Grimm that said, I never know what you're going to say next, but Grimm was trying to suppress a smile. He had gotten Wilhelm back for earlier, and how. Wilhelm castigated himself for letting himself react.
Everyone's noticed how much you've changed. The whole squad is trying to figure out who's behind it.
"…Can't you find anything more productive to gab about?"
You probably know this better than anyone, but we were all surprised.
Who managed to do this to you?
Grimm was completely convinced that the cause of Wilhelm's change of heart was a girl. And he wasn't wrong, but if Wilhelm confirmed it here, he wouldn't be able to hide it from Theresia.
"Don't be dumb. I've had enough of this stupid—"
It would be really sweet if you became a knight for her sake… It's not Lady Mathers, is it?
"Like hell! I wouldn't have anything to do with that woman if Pristela sank into the sea!"
You don't have to get so upset.
Grimm was grinning, but Wilhelm had real goose bumps. He wished Grimm would quit joking around.
Incidentally, Pristela was a major city in the western part of Lugunica. It was at the conflux of several prominent rivers, a city of floodgates that had yet to suffer water damage in all the centuries since it had been built.
"Anyway, we haven't even seen her on the battlefield lately. We only run into her every once in a while."
I think that "every once in a while" is because she wants to see your face. It's cute.
After they had succeeded in eliminating the witch Sphinx, the Demihuman Alliance's magical offensives had become considerably less potent. That also meant far fewer occasions on which they encountered Roswaal, the special magical advisor. But she did, indeed, faithfully come to see Wilhelm, although rarely.
Carol stays with Lady Mathers, so we haven't seen too much of her on the battlefield, either. I'm glad about that. I know she's stronger than me, but I don't want her out there too much with the battles the way they are these days.
Wilhelm gave a short nod. "True enough." He couldn't stand it anymore and gave a great stretch of his back. Even though the Demi-human Alliance had lost Valga and its other pillars, its attacks hadn't ended. If anything, the alliance had gotten more violent than before, with little regard for the consequences. "I guess without a strategist to check them, there's no one to hold them back. I think taking death before surrender is stupid, but it's led to plenty of casualties."
They have no way to retreat, no matter how terrible the battle is.
The bloodbath at the castle had been the great last-ditch effort of the demi-human leaders. In its aftermath, it was unexpected that the flames of war should not only fail to subside but burn hotter. Or rather, one person had expected it—Valga. He had even hoped for it.
"Maybe he knew that his death would fan the flames of demi-human anger and turn this into a war of mutual destruction."
Even so, the demi-humans are at a disadvantage. They don't have the numbers. Valga must have known that.
Grimm seemed to feel it didn't make sense, but Wilhelm thought he understood. Valga Cromwell wanted to put an end to the world. The world was full of outrages and unjustified killing, and Valga wanted to do such damage to it that it turned on its head. If that was his goal, then the current situation was quite in line with it.
The flames of the demi-humans' anger aren't going out. I wonder if there's a way to end this fighting.
"I told him I would keep killing until there were no more enemies to kill. But…I'm not sure that's realistic anymore. If there's any chance, I think it has to be something more positive." Positive?
"Something that will douse the flames of hatred and take away the fuel."
He felt like he was grasping at straws. If there had ever been such a possibility, the Demi-human War had changed things dramatically. What they truly needed was strength to match the rage.
Something even more imposing than Valga's ideals and the demihumans' hatred.
"If we had someone or something like that…I wonder what it would even be called."
"—"
Wilhelm's whisper caused Grimm to fall into what appeared to be a thoughtful silence. Then he seemed to think of something and wrote slowly on his paper.
A hero.
He had written only those two words. Wilhelm nodded.
A hero, he thought. Yes, a hero.
Someone who was not just a hero in name only but a real one, like in the stories. Someone with more power than Wilhelm, the Sword Devil, or the renowned battlefield outfit Zergev Squadron, or the peerless royal guard.
Someone like the Sword Saint, who had once dispelled the terror that lay over the world…
If there was to be an end to this fighting, it lay in such impossible hopes.