Shigeru hit the first group of men like a battering ram, sending half a dozen men flying with just the impact of his rush. Then his body and the blade he held exploded with ki, a bright purple fire that burned with the intensity of the sun. With two powerful swipes, he carved a path through the men that rushed him. These may have been innocent peasants at one point, but now they were criminals who had threatened the lives of those he’d sworn to protect. He cared about one thing, and one thing only; getting close to the enemy and taking out as many as possible, as fast as possible.

One man ducked under the sweeping blade and cut Shigeru across his leg, but the warrior didn’t seem to feel it. He grabbed the lucky attacker with his left hand and threw him forward, to collide with two more of his comrades, sending the tree sprawling to the ground. Then Shigeru hurled the blade towards the mob. It shifted into the giant form of Longfang as it flew, and the beast let out a howl to match the warcry of its master.

Despite its size, Longfang moved in a blur of flashing claws and snapping fangs, wiping out another sizeable chunk of the approaching army. Arrows rained down upon Longfang’s flanks from a dozen archers, but the shafts ricocheted without harm off the white fur as if the beast were encased in steel. He raised his head and roared a challenge at the men with bows, who paled in terror and immediately started backing away.

Shigeru ran forward, slipping under Longfang’s legs and reaching up. His hand brushed against the wolf’s broad chest, and instantly the beast had reverted to the long blade. Another arrow slammed into his right leg as he ran forward, but he didn’t even stumble. The roar continuously coming from his mouth as he went on the attack could only cause one reaction in the men who faced him. Terror.

But men to the far sides of the group, seeing what Shigeru was up to, were quickly breaking away from the main group, heading to the left and the right. Their intent was clearly to avoid Shigeru all together, and let the warrior fight himself to death while they continued to lay siege to the city. They were stopped short as a flash of white energy struck down the two fastest of their group. In a flash, Samuel was standing before them, his eyes showing nothing but danger in them.

Turning quickly to run the other way, they noticed the third figure that had appeared. A tall and thin warrior, wearing identical robes to the old man who had killed so many of them. His face was set in angry lines as well, as if he was only a hair’s breadth from the same awful, killing rage. Trapped between the two younger men, and in danger of running across the older man who would be sure to kill them, they had only one choice. They hefted their weapons and charged.

Once before, Samuel had faced a horde of enemies, the Draul that lived within the corrupted Dagorra Forest. Shigeru had been with him then as well, he remembered. Through the blur of reflected steel and press of bodies, it could have been Shigeru fighting where Tobi was. The grace, speed, and power of their strikes were nearly identical, as was the calm, thoughtful approach to fighting. To Shigeru and Tobi, fighting was nothing more or less than the single greatest purpose of their life. It was their best skill, and it was one that they had honed to perfection.

Arrows rained down upon Tobi from all directions, but none of them seemed to be striking the young warrior. Each time one came within a meter of him, the long spear he wielded moved in a blur to knock it down. Then the sharp point of his weapon would whip around to cut down another rebel. Arrows, men, it made no difference. The warrior held his ground, neither advancing nor retreating, waiting for his prey to come to him to be dispatched.

Several enemies attempted to move to the side, flanking Tobi, looking to surround and strike at his weaknesses. These men were struck down by something unseen, though Samuel knew it to be the spikes that the Wild Mages had gifted to him. Little flickers of movement were just barely visible as he saw the ki in each projectile, forming a sphere of thin lines around Tobi’s figure.

Samuel blocked and parried the attacks of those charging him with all the speed he could muster. Definitely out of mana at this point, he relied on his ki, allowing the more physical energy to strengthen his arms and legs. Finding a comfortable rhythm in the madness of the battle, he began to counter-attack. The men trying to overwhelm him, already frustrated with their inability to land a blow, recoiled with shouts of pain and fear as they were struck with either blade, hand, or magic.

Thanks in both to the strong body created for him by Isip and the tough training Tobi had put him through so far, Samuel was close to adept at manipulating his own Ki. Efficiency was a struggle, but he maximized the impact of each War Strike he used, drawing groups of enemies into one location before sending each and every one of them flying with a blast of white energy.

But neither Tobi nor Samuel could compare to the specter of death that was Shigeru. Wielding the five-foot-long greatsword as if it were a feather in his hand, he cleaved through the rushing army with great swipes. The white wolf appeared in flashes, knocking entire groups of men back, or else devouring one whole, seeming only to grow stronger with each attack. The rebel army, demoralized and nearly completely wiped out, had only one option. They threw down their weapons and ran.

They surged back through the opening in the wall they’d created, pushing and shoving each other in their haste to escape the killing ground. They left their companions behind, fleeing past the wall and back to the plains before Milagre. Shigeru followed them for a length, catching one or two of the slowest with great swipes of his blade. Then, slowly, he came to a stop, ten feet from the outer wall.

The battle seemed to stop on all sides, as all eyes turned to the short figure standing alone on the plains. Wounds of varying depths and sizes covered his body, which was drenched in blood from head to toe. Despite the wounds, any of which would have killed another man, he stood tall. His outer robe and tunic had been cut to ribbons, falling away and leaving his bare torso to cast an imposing figure as the sun shined down from behind him.

Slowly, and yet more quickly than Samuel could think possible, Shigeru sank to his knees. The blade of Longfang still clutched in his right hand, Shigeru lifted his head to gaze up at the blue sky. Samuel saw the tension leave his body, and, though he couldn’t see his face, he felt the rage and pain wash away, leaving behind only a pure, calm spirit. Satisfied that he had saved the people he cared for, Shigeru was at peace. Then his spirit too left, and he fell.

One of the invaders, seeing their greatest threat finally fall, took one hesitant step forward, as if to resume the attack. Immediately, the defenders of Milagre, who had finally been allowed to regroup due to Shigeru’s rush, raised their weapons in defiance. Before the rebel could take another step, however, a fellow rebel to the side reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him.

Samuel was too far to hear the words that the second man said, but he could deduce the message. It was over. After a few seconds, his companion seemed to understand, and stabbed his sword into the ground. The short blade made no noise as it struck the grassy plains, but the intention spread outward like a wave, with more rebels disarming themselves, either stabbing their weapons into the ground or in the case of clubs and bows, simply dropped them.

One by one, the defenders of Milagre came out onto the field. Common soldiers, officers, captains, and sergeants all paced calmly to stand before the defenders. One of the higher-ranking officers of Milagre unsheathed his weapon, a long broadsword, and stuck its point into the soft earth, the men he commanded echoing his actions a half-second later. Then another dozen, then two dozen, until all the defenders had placed their swords into the earth.

“What are they doing?” Samuel asked Tobi, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why are they putting their swords in the ground?”

“It is a tradition of peace,” Tobi muttered quietly. “It is a mark of respect to a warrior, ending the fighting on their efforts.”

Several of the defenders, after placing their own blades down, turned and stared at Tobi expectantly. There was a silent request in their gazes, one that Tobi seemed to understand, though Samuel was lost. Tobi nodded silently and moved to stand before the defenders, the naginata clutched in his right hand. He stared at the invaders who were responsible for his father’s fate for several long seconds, his eyes boring into each and every one of them. Then, without a word, he spun the long spear and sank it into the ground before his father’s body.

“It is over,” Tobi said, his voice clear and loud. “Upon my father’s body, we build peace.”