1

Sir Brian Mallory was given water to wash his face and some more to drink, seeing as he had lost his supplies together with everything else. His food had to wait, however, as the Imperials weren't satisfied with simply studying him on the surface.

Surrounded by guards, the Colonel, Yuliana, the earthling and a number of other curious listeners, the unfortunate knight was made to tell his story. What kind of a struggle had left him separated from his unit, bloodied and without a horse? It was a story which he recalled with great difficulty and reluctance. For a long time, he sat in silence, gathering himself, before bit by bit sharing his account.

“It was not long after we last saw her highness,” Brian began. “I dueled Baron Eisley, surrounded by my unit and the band of mercenaries we came across, as her highness may recall. I did not mean to kill Eisley and did all I could to keep from injuring him too badly. But he wouldn't let go of his grudge so easily. He kept coming at me and the fight dragged on. The mercenaries were getting tired with the show and demanded me to land the killing blow, or else they would. I feared a larger fight would break out between them and my men, and desperately looked for a solution. By the Gods...”

The man fell silent and wiped his pale face. Yuliana had regretted leaving him ever since the deed, but now that underhanded betrayal tormented her even hotter than before.

“Then—it hit us,” Brian quietly mouthed.

“What did?” Miragrave inquired in a stern tone.

“I...I can't say. Before I realized, we were under attack by...by a monster. In one moment, it looked like a man, in another...something else. I'd never seen or heard of such a thing before. It seemed to be everywhere, tearing through the men and the horses alike, as if they were made of felt. In just a flash, I saw only blood and dismembered bodies everywhere I looked. It was chaos. There was—there was nothing I could do. My cowardice will be my shame to the end of my days, but paying witness to all that, the thought of fighting back in my comrades' defense never occurred to me. No. All I knew then was that I had to get as far away from that place as possible. Everyone else still left standing shared the same thought. We dispersed, fled the best we could over the fields, each our own way, praying that—that thing wouldn't follow us. That it would go after somebody else.”

“So you survived.”

The man drew a deep breath and exhaled.

“I caught a horse without a rider, hopped on the saddle and rode east. And didn't look back. I spent hours going around every hill and cranny, trying to keep out of sight, until dusk. Then, my horse suddenly collapsed. I'd failed to notice before but it had been wounded in the side and bled heavily. It had carried me as far as it did on sheer adrenaline and wouldn't get up again. With no idea where I was, I kept wandering on through the night, hoping I'd be able to regroup with the rest. But I met no one. Sometime early in the morning, by chance, I stumbled back onto the road and then followed it to Varnam. The thought of going back south, in the direction where it happened...Not an option.”

Brian fell silent, the members of his audience exchanging cautious glances.

“That's all," he added. "You know the rest.”

“Yuliana,” the Colonel turned to the princess next to her, “where is the place he speaks of?”

“Ah...It took us closer to three periods on the carriage, so perhaps forty, fifty miles down the road from Varnam?”

“We are going to inspect that site.”

“Excuse me, I have to veto that plan, commander,” the Vizier interrupted. “We are not going to waste another day and so much supplies on such a detour. Tomorrow morning, the town's workers will be here waiting for us, by the road to Felorn. Our direction will not be south, it will be west.”

“People are going to die,” Miragrave gave the Vizier a glare that even made Yuliana shudder. But the aged man's spirit, forged in the trials and tribulations of the Imperial Court, wasn't that easily shaken.

“If I may be entirely honest with you, I couldn't care less,” he said. “We are not in Tratovia anymore, Colonel. This nation will one day soon be our stepping stone in the campaign against Langoria. So what if this beast kills a few of peasants here and there? Isn't that only in our best interests? As a tactical mastermind, you should see the advantages to having less population to harass us along the way. Rather, shouldn't we give the damned thing a medal?”

To that, the commander said nothing, although her expression didn't turn any more agreeable.

Disregarding her opinion, Attiker went on,

“How much trouble can one stray lion make? One solitary griffin? No, I should think a griffin would make for far worse a threat than this daemon of yours. It's alone, a long way from home. It's not going to make a nest and lay eggs, or however it is that these things reproduce. How many people do you think it can slay? A dozen per year? Maybe a hundred, if we're very lucky. And that's that. The principality has three million citizens, will they even notice? This man's story, colorful as it may be, doesn't change the facts. I'm still of the opinion that an elite company such as this is entirely wasted on your frivolous hunt. You may continue your holiday tour at your leisure, Colonel—after we fulfill our obligation to his majesty.”

Miragrave stood silent and still for a lengthy while, before ultimately turning to leave. “Do not let the man out of your sight,” she told the guards and went to return to the command tent with the Vizier and the wizard shortly behind.

Slowly, the crowd around went their separate ways, save for a handful of knights assigned to keep an eye on Brian. A daemon or not, he was still a soldier of a foreign kingdom, a future enemy, and there was no telling what kind of trouble he could cause if left unattended. Yuliana remained as well.

“I know how this looks, but you're safe now,” she told him.

“I'm safe?” Brian repeated. “Yeah. I am. But what about the others? Who's going to look for them? Even now, that thing is out there, hunting them down. One by one. Elon. Rickert. Mayhew. Sonus. Stopher...What will become of them? Will they ever see their families again?”

Yuliana could only answer him in the distant words of an officer,

“Have faith in your men. I'm sure they will find a way.”

But on the inside, she couldn’t help but share his concerns.

The grim, undeniable truth was that they weren't really the Imperials' allies or honorable guests, but captives, and as such, helpless to aid their countrymen against the foreign threat.

2

Exhausted Sir Mallory spent the remainder of the day in the medical tent, recovering from the toils of his harrowing escape. The Imperial veteran knights weren't too easily disturbed, but the overall mood at encampment had turned distinctly more tense by his story—which Yuliana also noticed.

The cause went without saying.

The rumored daemon was real. A horror from the old continent had somehow made its way to the lands where none had ever walked before. People were entirely unprepared to deal with a monstrosity they didn't even know existed. And those few who knew had their hands bound, unable to warn a soul.

Yet, it was precisely under such grim circumstances that a strong urge to do something was lit in the princess. There was nothing substantial she could start in a group of foreigners, but that didn't mean she could endure sitting idle and waiting. Whenever Yuliana found herself powerless to change the world about her, she directed her will towards bettering herself. Soon enough, an idea she had been harboring for a while resurfaced on her mind and she acted on it without delay.

“Um, why me...?” Izumi had to ask. At the princess’s request, the earthling found herself seated on a rock in a corner of the field, close to the road, watching a peculiar play unfold.

“It goes without saying,” Yuliana answered. “You're the best swordsman—or swordswoman—I know. So I want you to teach me how to get better. I already advised you in the ways of magecraft, so isn't it only natural that you’d return the favor?”

“I didn't even learn anything,” Izumi argued. “And I'm no good at teaching...”

The summoned hero tried to weasel her way out of the task with various excuses, like that she couldn't focus on talking at the same time while sparring, or that her techniques took years of practice to master and weren’t so easily shared. But Yuliana wouldn't hear it. She recruited a passing Imperial soldier for a training partner and told Izumi to observe and offer suggestions for improvement. The whole plan was rather outrageous, especially in the middle of a foreign military camp, but the princess could sure be stubborn.

Of course, they only used simple wooden branches for weapons. Yuliana's weapon had been discreetly confiscated.

“I used to think I was sufficiently trained for my position,” the princess explained. “But past events have shown again and again just how lacking my ability is. I do not wish to remain a burden on others if something serious happens. So I will gladly accept any advice you can give me.”

“Your pure intentions only make me feel worse about this,” Izumi mumbled in discomfort.

“Why not me?” Riswelze asked with a mischievous grin. No one had invited her, but the assassin appeared standing beside Izumi on the sidelines regardless. “I’m willing. I’m sure I could teach you a trick or two. Anytime, perfectly free of charge.”

“I thank you kindly,” Yuliana raised her chin and looked away. “As soon as I need pointers on how to stab people in the back under the cover of the night, I'll be sure to ask for your counsel.”

“Hey, the best fight is the one that never happens.”

“Can't argue with that,” Izumi sighed. “I think you've noticed by now, but my style isn't very chivalric. That’s the way things are in my world. Are you still sure you want to learn from me?”

“It won't hurt to try, I will take what I can. Sword is but a tool, and it depends on the person how they use it and for what purposes,” Yuliana confidently said, sounding like a teacher herself, and then turned to her partner. “Now then, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. What is your name, good sir?”

“Sehegilia Den Duneb Alais Leterrié,” the Imperial answered.

The man had a bit of an accent. He didn't have his helmet on, showing everyone his brown features and short, pitch black hair. The eyes under the thick brows were so dark brown they looked nearly black as well, but he seemed otherwise fairly friendly and polite. He was older than Yuliana, somewhere around his mid to late twenties. Rank aside, he was definitely her senior, if counting the years of service. Still, he played along with the young princess in good humor.

“Sir...Leterrié,” Yuliana repeated the name, raised her stick before her face and did a little bow. “Thank you again, for going along with my selfishness.”

“Not at all, your highness. The pleasure is mine.”

“Then, if you don’t mind. On guard!”

Like proper duelists, the two faced off and started the first round of their practice match.

Yuliana took the offensive right away, stepping forward and stabbing like a fencer. In a few vigorous hits, she was able to slip past the knight's guard and tapped him on the side of his chestplate.

“There we go,” the princess turned to Izumi with a satisfied smile. “What do you think?”

“’Ah, she’s really a princess’—is what I was thinking,” Izumi listlessly answered.

“Why?” The brief triumph melted from the girl’s face. “What do you mean by that?”

“Your knight training, was it always like this?”

“Not exactly like this, but...I don’t see what that has to do with this.”

“I was afraid that you wouldn’t...”

Yuliana started to grow irritated with the ambiguously offensive comments.

“Would you mind telling me clearly, what is the problem?” she requested.

“The main problem is, as far as I can tell, that you’re royalty and too cute,” Izumi told her. “Because of that, people simply can’t not hold back on you. It’s not necessarily a bad thing if you can take advantage of it—though I guess you wouldn’t, even if you somehow knew how. All it has done for you is warped your standards for combat, since you never realized it.”

“Warped?”

“That’s right. Of course, training is never comparable to a real fight. You don’t try to kill your practice partners, or otherwise you’ll run out of friends pretty quick. But the key is in that you acknowledge it for what it is, and go beyond what you see in your mind.”

“Go beyond...in my mind…?” the princess repeated, confused. “I’m not quite sure if I understand what you mean. So what exactly was my mistake? In the end, I was the winner of the bout, was I not?”

“Landing a hit in sparring means nothing,” Izumi shook her head. “Your opponent was determined to let you win from the start, so you should've managed to get him in one move. The fact that it took you five moves and you somehow found that normal—I don’t even know what to say. I’m going to cry. The starting level is simply too low.”

“...” Yuliana felt she was going to develop a migraine. “W-well, Sir Leterrié shall take the offensive this time. Let's see how it turns out.”

They returned to the starting positions.

The princess waited for the knight to move, and shortly he did.

Clearly enough, the Imperial still held back quite a bit, but his movements were nevertheless swift, strong, and stable. Though his weapon was only a wooden stick, there was quite a bit of weight conveyed in every contact. Keeping up his offensive uninterrupted, he steadily advanced and pressured Yuliana, who was forced to retreat in turn.

Yuliana started with great trouble but was able to contain her nerves and deflect the strikes, while looking for an opening. Backing up, she nearly lost her balance and fell, but was somehow still able to turn the tables. Diverting the knight's stab, she quickly spun around, lowered her posture, and slapped him on the side again. At the success of this highly cinematic move, a spontaneous smile brightened up the princess's features. Not that she had any idea what cinematic meant.

Seeing it, Izumi—sighed heavily and hung her head.

“What…?” Yuliana turned to the woman and asked.

“That you can still smile so brightly in a duel...I think it’s pretty amazing.”

“And what about it was so awful?” the girl asked, offended. “I won again, didn't I?”

“Because, again, Aladdin here let you.”

“Then do tell, in case he were my mortal foe, what should I have done otherwise?”

“Everything? Don't get locked in a combo. Move away, break off! When you strike back, don’t aim at his weapon, aim at his body, his vitals, his hands, wrists! Your every move should put the king in check. I get it looks cool, steel hitting steel, clang, clang, clang—just like in the movies. But that kind of thing will only get you killed. If you can't finish off your foe in three moves max, then you can't, at all, and you have to rethink your whole approach.”

“Ehh...”

“When countering, the finisher has to follow right up. That means no big arcs or other long-winded moves. And never turn your back to the enemy when you’re right in front of him! He could've snapped your neck! Ah, I can't bear to watch this any longer...”

Swallowing the overwhelming barrage of criticism with great effort, Yuliana patiently grasped her stick tighter and faced Sir Leterrié once more. And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Little by little, the matches gained in speed and intensity, but no matter how hard the princess tried, Izumi's evaluation remained consistently poor.

“There! See! You took a step back again! Did you notice? Are you even listening to me anymore? If you need space, then move sideways or diagonally! Don't let your opponent take over the flow. Have you never read Musashi?”

“I don't even know who that is!?” Yuliana cried, before slowly regaining her composure. “Very well...One more time...”

“No, that's enough,” Izumi stood up and said. “You're getting too used to reading each other's moves now. By this point, it's not even sparring but a circus performance.”

Yuliana was about to break the twig in her hands out of frustration.

“I have to wonder if you're not actually only making things up and bullying me for your own amusement?” she told the woman. “How about the professor shows us by example instead? I'm certain Sir Leterrié here will humiliate you in ways that are plain enough for all to see, even without unnecessarily complicated commentary.”

“Wow, are you twelve?” Izumi replied, turning to leave. “You’re the one who asked me. And I’m not going to answer provocation.”

“Oh. So you are scared?”

“...”

The woman stopped and slowly turned back.

With the genuine smile of a winner, Yuliana handed her stick over. Izumi took it without a word and stepped past the girl to face the Imperial knight. Yuliana instead went to take Izumi's seat on the rock and waited, barely able to contain her laughter.

“Did you think this through...?” Riswelze asked the princess, shifting nervously.

“Why?”

“I mean, this is Izumi we're talking about...”

“She’s not going to kill him with a branch,” Yuliana said. Before adding, a level less confident. “...I think. She wouldn't—she’s not that mad...is she...?”

An undecipherable look on her face, not making a sound, Izumi took a diagonal stance, the right leg at front, and raised the stick in front of her, one-handed. Sir Leterrié also assumed a proper stance, facing the opponent directly, a bit crouched, the stick pointed ahead in one hand, the other held out to the side, ready to act. It was true that he’d gone easy on Yuliana. Obviously. She was the commander's valued guest and a princess. Hurting her in any way, even by an accident, was not an option. It was only because he had confidence in his ability to avoid this that he had accepted her reckless request in the first place.

But Izumi's demeanor made him cautious. He thought she was knowledgeable and agreed with many of the points she'd brought up. He had even developed a bit of respect for the strange older lady. But right now, none of that was on Sir Leterrié's mind. The sense of danger radiating from the unmoving figure in front of him made him forget about the time and place, and focus.

The mismatched pair stood still like this, facing one another, weapons ready, and time crawled on.

Neither took a step to shorten the distance or to attack. The branches in their grips didn't waver in the slightest. The air around the two started to seem unsettling to Yuliana. Why weren't they moving? What were they thinking? She regretted pitting them against one another for such a childish reason, and thought about interrupting the match, yet the words became stuck in her throat. Spellbound, she could only silently watch, no matter what was going to happen. She realized she'd forgotten to breathe. Nearby, Riswelze stood tense as well, clenching her fist so that her knuckles paled.

And then...

Izumi suddenly relaxed her stance and dropped the branch in the grass before her feet.

Without a word, the woman turned and walked away from the field.

“Really, she didn't need to take it so seriously,” Yuliana said with a wavering smile. “I only wanted to tease her a little. Of course she wouldn't be able to rival an elite warrior. There's no shame in admitting that.”

“No...” Sir Leterrié slowly straightened himself and said. “It is my loss.”

“Huh?”

The two girls looked at him in confusion.

“I felt it,” the man said, dropping his stick and looking at his trembling fingers. “I saw it. Her branch, piercing my eye. As clearly as I see you. I could not make a move. I was certain I had died. To my fortune, instead of claiming my life, she was content with only knowing that she could.”

3

Izumi didn’t feel well. She couldn’t show her face to her friends, but took a stroll alone. She walked languidly through Varnam, along the central street, all the way to the northern exit, then turned around to head back to the Imperial camp, barely paying attention to anything that went on around her. Her mind was absorbed in an internal conflict.

For as long as she could remember, Izumi had wanted to get into another world.

What had led such a desire to blossom in her heart?

Perhaps as a child, her driving motivation had been a pure one; to become a hero who fights evil and protects life. Evil was represented by unfeeling, easily defined monsters, that could be cut down and destroyed without mercy or hesitation. Such simple, clear-cut threats didn’t exist in her own reality, so the only way to fulfill this innocent dream and find her place in the world was to travel to another altogether.

Over time, as Izumi grew, her dream remained the same but the reasons changed.

Instead of looking for a way to save others, it became more a matter of saving her own self.

She wanted escape, because the common everyday life had become too painful. Ironically enough, it had been largely her dream and the pursuit of it which had made it that way. Either way, unlike many others of her kind, Izumi had eventually found just what she had been looking for—escape.

In this new world, whatever troubles could be settled with a sword.

Or so it had seemed.

Having left her painful past behind, Izumi again had the time to think about other things, including the definition of heroism. And as she thought about it, she soon arrived at an alarming realization.

Since coming to Ortho, she had killed a lot of people.

As said, not every person was necessarily good or worth saving. If it was a problem of kill or be killed, then the answer was quite easy and straightforward. Izumi had long prepared for it and accepted it as inescapable. While she took to this road with the innocent motive to gain the strength to oppose evil, most of it she had walked with only the primal purpose of survival in mind. And if her survival necessitated murder, then so she had to do.

But——it was indeed a lot of people she had killed.

In fact, since coming Ortho, she had killed nothing but people.

Where was the evil?

Instead of saving lives from monsters, wasn’t she called a monster herself?

The earlier conversation with Riswelze had calmed Izumi somewhat, but facing another person in combat again rekindled her anxiety. Whether it was serious or not didn’t matter. She had nearly killed the man. Her intent had been genuine. Not because he was an enemy, because her life depended on it, because someone else’s life depended on it, because of good or evil, or because she was upset, or for any other obvious reason.

Only because she saw that she could.

Because it was that easy.

This might be bad.

The worst past was, what if this world wasn’t actually different from her own—in any way?

Had she really wished for this one-way trip to another world for the world and its people’s sake?

Or just for her own sake? So that no one she knew would have to see what a monster she truly was?

Had she escaped, after all?

Even in this strange world, she had already found people whose opinions and feelings mattered to her. Was she then only going to repeat the same mistakes here as she had in the past?

So they’ll leave me. Like everybody else. It’ll be just like before.

No matter what she did or tried, it seemed Izumi could only look bad in front of Yuliana. She hadn’t intended to scold the girl so much, but when it came to the art of combat, her mindset inadvertently changed. She knew no way to “take it easy”. Whenever she saw the girl make another easy mistake, Izumi could only think about how it was going to be the death of her one day.

Without Izumi, the princess would die—she was certain of it.

But what if the princess didn’t want her protection?

During Izumi's brief stay, she had learned that many dangers existed in Ortho.

Evil men, wizards, trolls, goblins, griffins, manticores, even dragons—and daemons.

If it was a fight against another person, Izumi was confident she wouldn’t lose. But was she strong enough to prevail in a fight against beings she had never seen before? She had no way of even guessing. And if her present ability proved inadequate, then was there any way for her to get stronger still? Having been denied the video game options of leveling up or enchanting her weapon, and being unable cast spells, Izumi was but “an ordinary human of Earth”.

Instead of becoming more powerful, she was only going to grow weaker day by day, as old age slowly but surely ate away at her cognition, nerves, bones, and muscles.

Izumi wasn't particularly troubled by the idea of her own death. But the thought of losing those she cared about was unbearable for her.

This might be really, really bad.

Somehow, before she realized, Izumi had started to think that her adventure with Yuliana would go on without an end. That things would somehow work out if only they stayed together. But was it not all in her head? Lately, hadn’t the princess started to act oddly cold with her? She still kept on talking about her mission to the other continent.

It has nothing to do with her—as nonchalant as Izumi had acted, those words had hurt.

No matter what, weren’t they already drifting apart?

She’ll leave me behind—and then die.

By the time she regained her senses, Izumi found herself wandering among the tents again.

The mist had largely cleared, but it helped visibility little, as night neared and the sun was about to set. The coming of the dark seemed terribly foreboding, almost metaphorical. Izumi had been able to save the princess from peril once, but the longer their journey went on, the harder it was bound to become. She sullenly looked down and continued to walk.

“Hm...?”

Suddenly, an unexpected observation stopped Izumi in her tracks.

“This is...!”

Somewhere between the tents, her nose picked up the strangest scent. She was hardly a hunting dog, but the scent was distinct enough for even her human senses to identify without fail.

It shouldn't have been possible.

It could've only been an illusion, a hallucination.

Nevertheless, a wild hope made Izumi's heart race and, sniffing the air, she started to look for the source of that scent. Her chase led her to one of the larger tents. No doubt, the aroma was coming from there, through the open entryway.

Without hesitation, she stepped inside.

“This smell is——it's coffee!! It’s the scent of coffee!”

What she had blindly stumbled into was none other than the lion's den—the Colonel's private tent.

A bit smaller than the main command tent, it was still large enough for people to stand in without bending their backs. There was a wooden table and some chairs set in the middle, a camping bed in the back, as well as a wooden folding screen, behind which to get changed and freshen up with an appropriate level of privacy. On the table, there was a large steel pot, with hot steam gently rising from the open beak.

Colonel Miragrave sat behind the table, in the company of the old wizard Yornwhal across from her, absorbed in a casual conversation over cups filled with hot, near-black liquid. Interrupted, they both now turned to look at the visitor with questioning expressions.

“That's the real deal, isn’t it! It's coffee, isn't it?”

Too excited by the groundbreaking discovery to mind her dreadful breach of basic etiquette and military regulations, Izumi was already in the tent, examining the pot from all directions, kneeling before it and inhaling the familiar, strong scent, like a pagan before the altar of her deity.

“Oh, my! There's no mistake! It's just what I've been looking for! I can't believe it! I already thought it didn't exist! To find it in such a place—this is a miracle! This can only be called a true miracle! The eighth wonder of the world! Where-oh-where did you find it!? You have to tell me! Please tell me! I'll do anything you want, if only you tell me this and where to find more!”

The old wizard was the first to recover,

“Ahem, as I was saying, it is a drink made of the fruit of a plant called Chroaca, from eastern Estua. An emissary brought a few sacks as a gift to his majesty a short while ago, of which he was gracious enough to spare me some. It has mysterious, revitalizing effects, or so I'm told. As far as I understand, the fruits are first dried, then carefully roasted under the scorching sun, only possible in the exceedingly dry climate of Estua. And before extraction, they’re ground to—”

“Yes, that's coffee!” Izumi excitedly nodded. “It's coffee if there ever was any!”

“Eh, ko-phee? What language is that? I recall the Estuans having a different name for the drink. They also claimed the invention was all theirs, how peculiar...”

Izumi wasn't listening. Like a child at a candy shop, she clung to the corner of the table, staring at the steel pot, as if it contained the very elixir of eternal life in it.

Looking at her, Colonel Miragrave graciously waved her hand and inquired,

“Perhaps you'd like some?”

4

In a moment, Izumi had joined the Imperials at the table, a cup in front of her. She was willing to fight the entire encampment for just a drop, but fortunately it hadn't been necessary.

“Aah! This is the best!” she savored every little sip. “It tastes just the way I imagined. No, even better than I remembered! Heaven is what it is! My oh my!”

“Really?” Yornwhal wrinkled his brow at the exaggerated reaction and looked into his cup. “Not to speak poorly of his majesty's gifts, but I find it terribly bitter for my palate...”

“It's an acquired taste,” Izumi told him. “You can put in a bit of milk and sugar if you want to, but I think that's just waste. This deep, unadulterated flavor is just the best…!”

“Hm, milk and sugar? Wouldn't have thought of that. What manner of an alchemist came up with such a recipe? Does it really 'reinvigorate one's body and spirit', as they say?”

“Of course, of course! I just can't get going without it. Really, it’s been so long since the last time, I thought the headache was going to kill me...The withdrawal I could do without...”

“Withdrawal?” the wizard and the Colonel looked at their cups, a bit alarmed. “It's addictive...?”

In Tratovia, the sale and possession of addictive and mind-altering substances was prohibited by the law, although the odds of actually being caught and fined for it were virtually nonexistent.

“Perhaps his majesty should be more careful with gifts from Estua in the future,” Miragrave suggested, before turning her gaze back to Izumi. “Madam, you came here with Yuliana, yes? By her words, she owes you a great debt. Would you mind explaining a little further? Who are you, exactly, and how did you come to meet her highness? Pardon me, but you do not look Langorian to me.”

“Oh, did I forget? I thought I introduced myself already. I'm Izumi. Itaka Izumi. An adventurer from a galaxy far, far away. I met Yule by chance, and we ended up traveling together. Um, what else should I say? I'm just trying to explore the world and have some fun while I'm at it.”

“...Galaxy?” The wizard repeated.

“I mean, continent! A country! The point is, it's far, where I’m from. You probably wouldn't know the place even if I told you the name. Yes, you could even say it's 'worlds apart', ufufufu!”

Again, Izumi was the only one to chuckle at her own wit.

“An adventurer,” Miragrave repeated. “There aren't many in the world of today who can say such carefree things. Far less those of your age.”

“Even for an officer, bringing up my age is too rude,” Izumi answered. “I met one General a while ago, and he at least had the courtesy to lie and call me young.”

“My apologies. I meant nothing by it.”

“I believe you,” Izumi said, happily sipping her coffee. “You don't seem like a bad person, Mira-rin.”

“Ever flattered,” the Colonel replied, sighing helplessly at the excessive familiarity. Again, Izumi's age and looks earned her a free pass with behavior that probably wouldn't have been tolerated from anyone else. “You have been traveling with her highness for a while then? Do you know, where is she headed? Why she left home all by herself? Is it true what they say, that she has been declared a traitor in Langoria and disavowed?”

“So it seems,” Izumi answered. “Though it was only a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?”

“That's right. Yule wanted to save the world, but her daddy wouldn't let her, so she took off. She didn’t meant to betray anybody.”

“Excuse me?” Miragrave frowned. “Save the world—what do you mean by that?”

“Um, there was some kind of a prophecy, how did it go again?" Izumi tried to recall, touching her lip. “I wasn't paying too much attention. The world is in decline, so people must go fight at some tower at the ends of the earth. And the winner gets to save the world and is rewarded with a wish. I think that was the gist of it.”

“...You're talking about the Covenant?” Yornwhal asked.

“Ah, that’s the deal.”

“I don't believe it!” the wizard looked astonished by the news. “She's going to the Trophaeum? She would—by herself? Is she out of her mind?”

“Yornwhal?” the commander didn't seem to follow. “What is she talking about?”

“Ah, yes, the Convenant mythos isn't too well known in Tratovia outside the academic circles,” the old man explained. “That’s a shame. I understand it is not particularly meaningful to a layman, but this is our world's history we're talking about. By the calendar, close to a thousand years have passed since the previous Night of the Covenant. I see her highness is well-read, to know this.”

“So you’ve heard of it?” Izumi asked him. “There really is a tower and a competition?”

“I've heard about it, yes,” the wizard replied. “Since ancient times, champions of all free races of the world have gathered at the root of the Tower of the Gods on the destined night. Once the gates are opened at dusk, they race together to the summit, challenging the trials of the tower. Through this sacred ritual, the victor gains the power to restore life to our fading world once more and is anointed a God himself. I won’t begin to guess how much of that is true, but historical records have been found around the world, of both the Trophaeum, as well as the champions who left their homes for the games.”

“And godhood? Somehow, I have a hard time believing that part,” Miragrave said.

“Me two,” Izumi concurred.

“I'm not too much of a believer myself,” the wizard admitted. “But who knows? There are parts in the legend that make me feel uneasy. According to some interpretations of the Prophecy of Geltsemanhe, this could well be the last year we have left to live.”

“The last year?” the Colonel raised a brow. “How so?”

“According to the prophecy, on the thirty-third cycle of the Covenant, a champion comes to our world from another. And that warrior will end the Covenant, bringing about an Age of Chaos. All built by men will be reduced to ashes and we living beings perish. Ahaha, I see now. The princess has heard this version as well and wants to preserve the cycle! I can't believe it! Bless that child!”

“She believes this tall tale to be true?” the commander asked. “Do you?”

“Why, I am not a thousand years old yet!” Yornwhal replied. “I don't know, and what I don’t know, I won’t say. I can read books the same as anyone, but being able to write them also, I am more than aware that they may easily lie. But I do know his majesty believes in it.”

“He does? News to me,” Miragrave wryly remarked. “It's starting to seem to me like his majesty will believe anything his counselors tell him. Where is this Tower of legend then? Should we not seize it and see what we can learn from it?”

The wizard looked uncomfortably down at his hands and sighed, before answering,

“Amarno. It is in Amarno.”

The Colonel's smile turned twisted and she made a gesture with her hand, like a magician showing how the coin on her palm has disappeared.

“Goodbye then, world.”

“Hmm?” Izumi frowned at their exchange. “It’s that far away?”

“Far? Yes,” Miragrave said. “But it's not a matter of distance. Getting there is impossible to begin with. Have you already forgotten? That land is all lost—to the daemons.”

“I've been wondering this for some time,” Izumi said, “but what are these daemons, really? No one can tell me. So far as I know, there are monsters on this continent too. Nobody seems to mind the huge rock giants that could squash a town or two by one bad step. If a griffin kills a noble on a hunting trip, it's just an amusing anecdote to pass around at a banquet. An army’s worth of folk has gone missing in the woods nearby, and apparently an Emperor too, but people still treat it like any old forest. So what is it about daemons that makes them stand out?”

Izumi's question was followed by a heavy silence.

The oil lamp hanging from the support beam above flickered, making the shadows dance.

The Colonel sat in her chair, an extinguished look in her green eyes. Right from her, the Court Wizard appeared ten years older than he already was, biting his lip and staring at the table with a look of resignation.

Then, Miragrave broke the silence,

“There are many demons out there. And then there daemons. Which dark abyss did they crawl from? Which of the Gods made such beings and for what purpose? No one knows. Yet, they exist. As hard as we wish they would not, they are there. What makes daemons stand out, you ask? Nothing. They kill? Anyone can kill. They are cruel? Men can be cruel. They are difficult to kill? So are wyverns, so are wendigos, drakes, dharves, elves too. And yet, pit any one of those against a daemon, and even a manticor will know fear. Daemons...know no fear. There is only one thing that drives them and that is the ceaseless desire to ruin all that is good, as thoroughly and painfully as possible. In this craft, they are the masters. No matter how we try, in the extent of our atrocities, we humans cannot hold a candle to them.”

“If they're that bad,” Izumi said, “then why won't everybody in the world join forces and get rid of them?”

“That is his majesty's vision,” the wizard answered her. “Unite all the races, with mankind at the helm. Many find the task impossible, and I can’t blame them. The differences between the races are too wide and deep for that, our history too bitter. Not only have we drifted apart from the other intelligent species, we men stand divided among ourselves also. It is only after we've set aside our own differences and become one that we may begin to even dream of joining others. But, we’re making progress, though it takes time.”

“It takes too long,” Miragrave added. “So his majesty turns his hopes to these myths. He feels his age catching up with him, the whisper of mortality in his ears. Who will continue his legacy when he is no more? Who can, if anyone? Among men, there is no one like the other, and he knows this only too well. So what is the solution? Eternal youth!”

“Oh, I can sympathize,” Izumi said. “I mean, I'm not an emperor, but growing old isn't very nice, no matter who you are.”

“There is a sentiment that resonates within this weary heart as well,” Yornwhal nodded. “As much as I'd like to insist that the wisdom gained makes up for it, there is that certain passion of youth lacking in my Art these days. And too many bones that ache and wake me up on a cold night.”

“Then I thank my fortune I am not your peer there yet,” the commander said, being only twenty-seven.

“Yes, Mira-rin is still so pretty,” Izumi noted. “What if this spring thing is real? Will you have a cup? That way you could remain a beauty forever.”

Miragrave only groaned at her words,

“And what about this life is so grand that you would want it to go on forever? Even if adorned in youth.”

“...”

“...”

Both the wizard and the earthling exchanged glances.

“...Could it be, Mira-rin is already a granny on the inside?”

“Now that I recall, I've heard that she is still without a spouse at her age. Could this be the cause? How unfortunate. Unfortunate, indeed...”

“...And this is the part where the guests excuse themselves,” the commander glared at them in return.

“Indeed,” the sorcerer took the cue and stood up, leaning on his staff. “It is about time I retired to my humble quarters in meditation. It is a long journey we still have ahead of ourselves. Oh, and if you like, Mira, you may keep the dryfruit sack. A gift it may have been, but I have no taste for this...coffee. I feel it rustling unpleasantly in my bowels already. So I gift it on.”

“You're really missing out, grandpa,” Izumi remarked.

“Ha,” the wizard huffed and turned towards the entrance.

“Thanks a lot, you're a lifesaver,” Izumi told the Colonel, emptying the remains of her cup and standing up. “If there’s any way I can pay back for the favor, then let me know! I may not look like it, but I can do anything if only I try.”

“I shan't forget those words,” Miragrave answered with a bit sly smile. “If it is work you're looking for, I can arrange as much as you like.”

“Ehh...” Izumi grimaced. “I didn't have a long-term commitment in mind, really...”

“——!”

At that moment, a long, loud, whistling sound could be heard.

As it had already been heard once before that very day, its significance wasn't lost on anyone. At once, Miragrave stood up from her chair and reached for her belt and sword.

“Captain!”

“Yes, ma'am!” A knight officer immediately appeared in the doorway.

“The Langorian?”

“Asleep in the medical tent.”

“Ten men there, the rest to intercept.”

4

In no time, the rehearsed, fan-like ambush setup was ready to receive the anomalous traveler. The sun had set, it was already dark and getting darker still. The commander took advantage of the small bonfires lit along the road and moved the formation accordingly. If the approaching stranger stayed on the path, he would be illuminated by the flames sufficiently to be identified. If he strayed, his fate was sealed. To put an arrow in a man-sized target, the Empire's elite archers needed no light beyond what was naturally available.

Again, they engaged in the anxious wait, silent as at a wake.

Izumi had ended up following after Miragrave and found herself with a front row view this time. No one seemed to care about her presence, while she kept quiet and out of the way. Yuliana and Riswelze soon made their way to her, wearing tense faces.

Another false alarm...or perhaps not?

Soon, everyone could discern a dark figure wobbling down the road, its shadow drawn long by the fires. And anyone seeing that shape could also tell something was off. Though it resembled a person, it moved in a queer, unsettling manner.

The traveler was on foot, alone, like Sir Brian before. Seemingly a man in ragged, dark clothes. But instead of walking normally, he dragged his other foot, jerking awkwardly forward, the body swaying and convulsing weirdly. A couple of times the figure nearly fell over, but struggled quickly back up with almost unnatural persistence and kept drawing towards the lights. Like someone merely pretending to be wounded.

Looking at the odd character, Yuliana shuddered. It felt wrong. All wrong. If he was an ordinary human, what on earth was wrong with him? Why didn’t he make a sound?

Once the shady figure had reached close enough, a knight called out again,

“In the name of his Imperial Majesty, halt!”

The man wouldn't stop. As if he hadn't even heard.

“Halt, if you value your life, vagrant! Stop where you stand!”

Still no response.

The creepy walker forced himself forward, step by step, as if driven by some pressing, otherworldly urge. He wasn't fast enough to seem threatening, but as he neared the blockade, everyone began to feel uneasy.

“STOP! NOT ANOTHER STEP! STOP!”

Even now, the stranger paid no heed to the knight's commands. He was already close enough for Yuliana to clearly see his attire and features in the bonfires' warm glow. A black overcoat, a white silk scarf around the neck, stained in blood, expensive-looking riding boots, black hair hanging partially over a smeared forehead…

“Baron Eisley!” Yuliana gasped, recognizing the man.

“Who?” the Colonel asked.

“It's the son of Lord Eisley of the Kingsguard! He followed me to avenge his father! He's the man Brian dueled on my behalf! He's alive but horribly wounded! We have to help him!”

“Keep back,” Miragrave stopped the princess, who already took a step to aid the injured.

“Master?”

“It's the oldest trick in the book. Daemons assume the form of their victims and feign injury to catch allies off-guard. If he is who he seems, then why won't he respond? Yornwhal, what can you tell me?”

“You depend too much on me,” the wizard shook his head in frustration, feeling the pressure. “The materials of his clothes are real. I perceive no traces of anything underhanded. But his mind, it's all fuddled. He is barely conscious. Or has no mind to begin with. I cannot say for sure, good grief! Don't make me the judge of his fate!”

“FOR THE LAST TIME, HALT OR DIE!”

The man looking like Baron Eisley continued to slouch on with fervor, not uttering a sound. No, being this close, everyone could hear a low, hair-raising groan coming from the depths of his throat. His face so caked in blood, his expression was difficult to see in the poor light.

“Of course it has no mind!” Vizier Attiker shouted from the back. “It's an animal! Animals can't speak! He's the one, kill him!”

“It's too soon to tell!” Yuliana retorted. “There has to be a way we can make sure!”

“And how would you propose to do that?”

“Can't we take him alive? With so many of us—”

“No,” Miragrave interrupted the princess. “If he's the one, we will all die if we let him any closer. That is a risk I will not take, whatever he is.”

The commander nodded to the archers. “Fire.”

“No!”

Paying no attention to Yuliana's solitary opposition, five archers immediately released their arrows, the rest ready to follow through if the initial hail missed.

There was no need.

From this distance, the shafts all pierced the approaching man's chest right at the center with flawless accuracy. Upon contact, the runes engraved in each arrowhead activated and young Lord Eisley's form burst into flames. Furious green fire hungrily devoured his coat and spread to cover the man’s whole body in a matter of seconds. Now a terrible, inhuman yowl of agony escaped him, as the human torch slowly succumbed to his knees and burned, burned, burned without mercy.

Yuliana looked away. She covered her ears as well. But that wasn't enough to help her endure the horrifying scene. Giving one last, respectful look of farewell to the hideous pyre, and immediately regretting it, Yuliana turned and hurried away from the road.

Without exhibiting an ounce of similar innocence, only cold determination reflected in her eyes, Miragrave ordered the corpse to be examined as soon as the flames died out. Not letting anyone in the formation relax a muscle yet, she waited restlessly while two knights went to investigate Gregory Eisley's charred earthly remains. They approached the corpse with care, swords and torches in hand, but found little resistance. The rune’s fire had been intense.

However, one of the knights soon reported a peculiarity.

“Well, I'll be,” he exclaimed, looking into the corpse’s gaping mouth under the light of his torch. “No wonder he said nothing; the bastard has no tongue!”

“There you have it, Daemonslayer Marafel,” Vizier Attiker said, patting the Colonel’s shoulder. “I take it our business here is concluded?”

Without answering, not looking relieved or happy in the slightest, Miragrave ordered the remains to be beheaded and buried.

“Captain,” she then turned to her assistant.

“Ma'am!” The Lieutenant straightened his posture.

“Earlier, you let an armed civilian enter my tent.”

“I have no excuse!” The knight tensed.

Eyeing him for a moment, the Miragrave then told him,

“Then brew us another pot of coffee. Tomorrow we march to Felorn.”