1

In a blink of an eye, Riswelze was an assassin again. Her personal feelings, hopes, and fears disappeared altogether, and like clockwork, her mind was unemotionally assessing the troublesome situation. Perhaps not the most troublesome she had ever been in, but definitely in the top five.

The arrow had come from the west. The knights would expect the enemy to flee in the opposite direction, away from them. Simultaneously, the east side team would advance to cut off their escape. They wouldn't risk shooting their own, so there would be no more fire from the west to be expected for a while. Not until they would realize that their prey wasn’t moving. Then both teams would start closing in, completing the pincer move.

Therefore, the more urgent threat posed by the knights on the east side had to be eliminated first.

Riswelze found a suitable cover and laid down, her ear pressed against the soil. She waited. As unbearable as it was, she waited, controlling her breathing, even her pulse. Though the fear that she had made a mistake and they would kill Izumi while she wasted time gripped her insides, she waited patiently like a snake, while spiders and beetles crawled over her.

And she heard them.

They were knights, not assassins.

The bolts, buckles, and leather straps squeaked as they moved. The corners of the plates scraped together. The bowstrings groaned. Their heavy footsteps could be felt from afar, the rustling of leaves.

Confirming the distance and direction, Riswelze quickly pushed herself up and ran. Her light shoes made virtually no sound at all and she stepped like a cat, absorbing the impact. Reaching close enough, she climbed up a tree and looked down. There were five knights, as expected, advancing in an angled line, where each one could fire forward. All of them were equipped with bows, clearly determined to avoid close combat. They had seen enough of Izumi’s handiwork by now to not underestimate her again.

The group’s path took them right under the tree.

Waiting until they were almost past her spot, Riswelze dropped down behind the last man. She remained low, carefully unsheathed her dagger, and made her move. She hadn't wasted the past days sleeping. She had studied the Imperials' gear, their armors, weapons, and supplies. She knew exactly how the plates overlapped, the position of every bolt. As intimidating as the armor looked on the outside, it had the common vulnerabilities, the sides, under the arms, the groin, and the joints.

Not feeling anything in particular, as if plucking a weed, Riswelze grabbed onto the closest knight and shoved the dagger in his left side through the open plate seam, a bit upward.

“Hng!” Only a faint sound could be heard, muffled by the helmet, and the knight was dead, his heart cut. As his body fell forward, Riswelze quickly circled in front of him, received the corpse on her back and laid him down, fast but quiet, before moving onto the next.

Things went better than expected. There was no such a thing as a battle without accidents and miscalculations, but she only messed up with the fourth one. The man had his bow ready and drawn tighter than expected. As he died, he released the shaft, which made a whistling sound and an audible thud as it sank into the ground. There was no way the last knight didn't hear it. Astonished, he turned around, saw the girl, and quickly took aim.

Releasing the dagger still stuck in the previous target, Riswelze dropped down to one knee. She reached for her belt, drew a smaller throwing knife, and cast it through the crack in the helmet visor.

At the same time, the knight took the shot.

The arrow scraped the girl’s right ear, enough to draw blood.

For a split-second, Riswelze’s heart skipped a beat. For no reason. The arrowhead was steel, the wound minor. Her throwing hand was more accurate and the distance short. The little blade missed the eye behind the visor but struck his brow.

“Aagh!” The knight arced his head backward in pain. Without wasting the opening, the assassin closed the distance and stuck her dagger through the opening under the helmet's throat guard. The stream of blood that gushed out as she extracted the blade left no doubt regarding his fate.

Exhaling, the girl eased the tension on her shoulders, wiped the mishap off her mind, retrieved her dagger and ran on.

Next, the west side.

Less than a hundred yards on the other side of the path, the land suddenly vanished and dropped down by thirty feet or so. It appeared that the path to the spring carried along a small ridge. There was no going down. The face of the cliff was steep and smooth, without a good footing.

The terrain prevented her from getting further behind the enemy. Twice as cautious as before, she followed the edge of the cliff, approached the knights’ assumed position from the north. And nearly stumbled upon them, as careful as she had been.

There were four knights, squatting restlessly by the precipice, awaiting signal from the other team. Riswelze hadn’t heard them, as they weren’t moving and had left their horses a lengthy distance away, but barely managed to avoid discovery. The Imperials were facing southeast, towards the path, ready to shoot if any heads appeared from the undergrowth. Coming up from behind them, she still had the advantage.

With no reinforcements left to watch out for, there was no need for discretion either.

Relying on her camouflage, Riswelze attacked. She ran up to the nearest knight, jumped and struck him overhead with her left palm. As soon as he was pushed off balance, she stabbed her dagger into the back of his neck from behind. One down.

Wasting no time to extract the weapon, Riswelze drew another from the holster under her arm, and faced the next. The knight quickly turned and drew his bow, but she got too close. Reaching out, she cut the bowstring, slipped in front of him and sliced under the rim of the helmet, like opening an oyster. Second was dead.

The third one had more time and managed to shoot, but Riswelze saw him. Ducking, stepping low right, the assassin eluded the line of fire. She leaped forward, slid on her knees, and stabbed him in the groin. Without waiting for him to fall over, she leaned backward, straightened her knees, pulled him along, and propelled the knight over the edge of the cliff with her foot.

Sitting back up again, she cast the dagger through the visor of the last man. Making corrections to her aim after the previous attempt, she didn’t miss the eye this time.

All four were dead. Standing up, Riswelze exhaled deep, collected her discarded weapons, and left to head back to Izumi.

Overconfidence had always been her weak point. It made her careless and she knew it, but there was simply no helping it. Each time she narrowly escaped death, her arrogance only grew worse. And it backfired on her yet again.

—“Got you now!”

One more Imperial was left. He had gone to scout ahead while the others waited, and had by chance spotted Riswelze when she had crossed the path. Hiding low in the grass, sneaking closer, he now managed to catch her from behind as she was about to leave.

“You will pay for what you’ve done!” The steel-coated arm tightened around her bare neck with crushing force. Riswelze had already put her weapons away. Even if she could draw a dagger, killing the armored man without seeing where to aim was difficult. She didn't have that time. Feeling her throat be crushed, panic overwhelmed her reasoning and Riswelze knew she was going to die.

“Grk—!”

But the chokehold was abruptly loosened.

Wrestling herself away from the knight’s squeeze, Riswelze gasped for air and turned around.

She saw the knight, his helmet forced backwards in his head—and Izumi standing behind him. There was no need to guess what had happened to the man's head inside. He limply sank to the ground and wouldn't move.

“Sorry, I got tired of waiting,” Izumi said. “Did I come at a bad time?”

“Damn it, that bastard,” the girl coughed and rubbed her hurting throat. “And here I thought I'd finally get to pay you back...”

“Pay me back?” The woman looked puzzled and tilted her head. “For what?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot? I owe my life to you, twice over, remember? At the bath, at the villa. Well, that's three times now, I guess.”

“Oh. You're still going on about that? Does it really matter?”

“It does. To me,” Riswelze replied. “I can't consider us as equals until I've paid back my debt in full.”

“Ehh?” Izumi frowned. “Do people ever tell you you're kinda weird, Rise...”

“You're absolutely the last person in all of Ortho I want to hear that from.”

“Well, I don't think I could've managed all those knights by myself,” the woman shrugged. “I don't have the patience for sneaking around. So I think the third time's more than made up for. Rather, don't I owe you instead? Any one of the archers could've shot me, so that's nine times you've saved me.”

“No,” Riswelze argued. “You may have a point, but if we're going to count like that, then I'd owe you for every soldier at Haywell. No, it's one crisis, one save. So I still owe you two more times.”

“This is too complicated for me. Why is it so important for us to be equals anyway, by your logic? I mean, in my own world, everybody's supposed to be equal from the get-go. Saving those who are in trouble is kinda expected of you and not something people make debt for.”

“What an ungrateful world!” Riswelze exclaimed. “Well, where I come from, it’s different. See, in my circles, by our rules—well, I'm not saying it's something everybody in the world should follow, but I think it's a beautiful thought, anyhow. Like, somebody who's indebted to another can't...well, you know...?”

The assassin trailed off.

“Know what?” Izumi tilted her head.

“Well...” the girl twisted her face, struggling for words. “I mean, become spouses...with that person. Because...see, only equals can marry, and so on…Oh, Hel! What are you making me say, woman! Hearing it like this makes it seem so—it sounded better in my head!”

Stepping in front of the woman, Riswelze timidly put her hand on Izumi’s shoulder and said,

“I just...I don't want to owe to you, Izumi. Not by any means. Not if I can help it.”

“Rise...”

Izumi looked at the girl in front of her, deep into her bright eyes. She saw herself reflected in the assassin’s gaze and was at a loss of words. At the same time, she felt oddly warm at heart. It had been a long, long time since she had last experienced such a ticklish heat. So long, that she had forgotten entirely how it felt like.

It was undoubtedly the warmth of the flame of youth. The very flame she had been chasing all this way, that she had desperately longed to feel again. It had been there all along, in those eyes, so close by. The spring, the forest, all her plans and intentions—evaporated like tiny droplets of water on a heated stove from Izumi’s mind, right then and there.

What was I thinking? What was I trying to do?

Suddenly nothing she had done made any sense to her anymore.

Weren’t those eyes and their owner by far more precious than anything she could find in these dark woods? Izumi had come all this way to find a piece of copper, risking something more precious than gold in the process. She really had to have been mad to ever take this path!

Everything that really mattered, in this world or any other, was contained in those loving eyes—she was sure of it.

Perhaps it was okay not to become an adventurer? Adventure itself was pointless next to the happiness of sharing a home with someone.

Perhaps it was okay not to become a hero? Surely protecting just one life could be more fulfilling than saving a million.

Perhaps it was okay to grow old—so long as it happened with the right person.

Then, the spell was broken.

Looking up, Riswelze’s expression changed. She quickly stepped past the woman and shoved her away. At first, Izumi couldn't understand the meaning of that action. She was too dazed to think about anything.

Then, she saw a black arrow protruding through the girl's leather vest.

“That's once,” Riswelze exhaled, relieved.

The letter carved on the arrowhead glowed faintly and a blink of an eye later, the young girl's figure was veiled in an intense, explosive fire of vibrant green hue. Disregarding the danger, Izumi reached out her hand—to no avail. With her last strength, Riswelze stepped back and cast herself over the edge of the cliff, down beyond anyone’s reach.

2

Izumi ran. Her feet felt weirdly, unnaturally light, as she followed the secluded path deeper and deeper into the woods, the path that ancient people's feet had beaten for centuries before her. She didn't feel much anything at all. Her body seemed like a hollow, dried up eggshell dangling in the wind, and no less brittle. It all felt like a dream. She had to have been dreaming, seeing a nightmare, there was surely no way real life could be as terrible?

No, it could. It could be worse.

But what about it?

All her dreams were nightmares, and so was all of her life. There was not one good, uplifting vision mixed in anywhere. There existed no distinct, tangible differentiation between her dreams and reality whatsoever in this regard.

It was a dream.

It was reality.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

Nothing she did mattered.

Nothing anyone did mattered.

So I might as well——

Izumi reached a clearing between the misshapen trees.

There was a small basin, at the bottom of which stood odd little houses. Weather-beaten, darkened, decrepit wood huts, collapsed, and abandoned ages ago. Ancient fireplaces in circles of ashen stones. Rotted tanning racks, moss-covered whetstones. A dried up, collapsed well, remains of crude carts and carriages, old pots of rusted-through iron, and plates of hand-shaped clay.

Times changed.

Civilizations evolved, science and technology spread together with the written word, replacing cults and religion. But this place, forgotten by time, remained as a token of the once intimate relationship between men and the Divine. For the people who had lived here, religion wasn't a matter of faith. Not a matter of dreams.

The only truth worth knowing in the world.

Varnam—the gate of truth.

But for the lone woman from Earth, the truth didn't matter. None of it mattered.

In her world, God was dead.

Izumi ran into an ambush.

Of the twenty knights who had set out with the Vizier, thirteen had been slain. Seven were left. Six stood there, blocking the path through the abandoned village. It seemed they'd been forewarned and were waiting for her. Armed with bows, kneeling, they quickly took aim as soon as they saw her.

There was no time to even think about taking cover.

Izumi lowered her stance, turned sideways to minimize the target area, and flipped her wide sword in front of her as a shield. It didn't cover her completely, but so long as her vitals were guarded, it didn’t matter.

Six arrows were fired simultaneously.

Four, aimed at her chest, were deflected by the sword and rebounded around harmlessly. One scraped the back of her left thigh. One her right arm a bit below the elbow. There was no fire. Only surface wounds. Neither arrow bore the deadly rune. The deflected projectiles had yet to fall to the ground, when Izumi made her move.

She held up the Amygla with both hands, high above her head, and flung the greatsword across the air with all her might. The heavy projectile impaled the knight in the middle of the line, while he was reaching for another arrow. His companions were staggered for a heartbeat—and no more.

The ability to control and contain one's emotions on the battlefield, to recall the patterns ingrained through rigorous training and years of field experience, to act undisturbed under all conditions—these were the qualities expected of an “elite”. Unbending mental and physical fortitude, acquired by forcing both the body and the mind to the limit of human potential, and beyond. As if their minds had become one, those five remaining knights reached for a replacement arrow, to shoot again. No one was left behind, all motions were flawless and swift.

But it didn't matter.

Izumi dashed forward.

She wasn't a soldier. Not a knight. Not a mercenary. A nobody.

The experience guiding her actions was largely virtual, imaginary. Outside the training halls of modern combat sports, where everyone was friends and never fought to kill, she had only faced warriors that were digital, in worlds that weren't real.

But to her right now, whether it was reality or a game—it didn't matter.

It's a nightmare. A nightmare. A nightmare, a nightmare, a nightmare.

Izumi saw everything through a hazy, unfeeling mist, as if in slow motion. She was only in another arena shooter, nothing more, and examined the situation with the disinterest of a tired gamer.

Trying to hide behind the huts was pointless. The knights would pin her down and picked her out as soon as she'd show her head again. Dodging five arrows on open terrain was clearly impossible as well. But if she had to mind only one, then things would get a lot more simple.

Therefore, she ran. She picked the knight rightmost on the line and sprinted straight at him.

Even though his movements were slowed down by the heavy plate armor, it took the knight only a few seconds to remove a fresh arrow from the quiver, set it, and draw the string. Even as the enemy approached, he controlled his nerves and didn't waver, didn't blink. There was no chance of missing from so close. He relaxed his fingers and let go.

But Izumi was even faster. Diving in, she reached out her hand and grabbed both the bow and the arrow in her hold. Exactly how terrible was her grip strength, to halt the weight of sixty pounds trying to propel the shaft into her heart? But stop it she did.

Tackling the knight into the ground, she turned the bow to point left and released her hold.

A series of sharp whistles rang out in the span of a quarter of a second.

Not even steel plate could withstand a shot from a military grade compound bow from this range. The knight closest to the left was pierced through the side. He staggered back, involuntarily lowering his aim and fired his own arrow. It pierced the leg of the knight in Izumi's embrace, a finger's width from her own thigh. The soldier behind the second followed the woman's movement too far before shooting. As a result, he hit his own, staggering comrade in the arm, an inch below the shoulder. The bloodied shaft slipped straight through the plating and flesh, brushing past Izumi's temple.

The remaining two recognized that they were too late and held their arrows, instead stepping out the line to recollect the target. Quickly looking up to check which way they were moving, Izumi rolled the other way, keeping the third knight between them. She seized the short sword from the belt of the knight she had knocked down, leaped past the fatally wounded man in the middle, and stabbed the blade through the visor of the third archer.

Instead of moving on right away, Izumi kept the knight standing by holding the sword up, using his body for a shield. One of the remaining archers expected her to emerge sooner, and wasted his arrow trying to catch her by surprise. Letting go of her involuntary bodyguard and the sword stuck into his head, Izumi rolled out and picked up the Amygla from the corpse of the fourth Imperial.

She didn't waste energy trying to parry the remaining arrow, but simply took a random backstep in the middle of her charge. He had aimed slightly ahead, trying to anticipate her moves, which made his arrow miss its mark by a considerable margin.

“Wait...” Realizing he wouldn't have the time to shoot again, the knight dropped his bow and retreated. But he misjudged the ancient greatsword's reach. Izumi's following horizontal swing hit him on the side of the helmet, breaking his neck.

The last Imperial had the time to take out another arrow, but his nerves and numb fingers failed him on that tense moment. The feathers slipped from his grasp, and the shaft fell clicking at his feet.

“Damn it…!” He could only helplessly lament his pitiful failure, as the greatsword's blade cleaved his shoulder in two.

The one surviving knight tried to limp away, the arrow sticking from his thigh. Izumi unhurriedly followed after him, and executed him by chopping his neck from behind.

“That liar,” she muttered, looking at the arrows scattered on the ground. “Only one had the rune.”

—“Hey!”

A voice suddenly called out to her from further down the path, near the other end of the small village.

Yes. There was one more enemy left. A knight emerged from behind the huts. He had a bow and a quiver as well, but he now removed them and threw them away.

“Right,” Izumi glanced at him with little interest. “Twenty men headed out with the Vizier. Only nineteen are dead. The Hawkeye was you then?”

“I did not wish for this,” the knight told her. “Why could you not stay with the others? Your friend's blood stains your own hands as much as it does mine.”

“Not at all,” the woman replied. “Soon all the blood in your hands will be your own.”

The knight pulled off his helmet.

Izumi had seen a lot of knights in these past few days, even spoken with some, while serving the meals and walking around.

This one she could recognize by name.

She should've recognized him by name.

But not really. The name was too difficult for Izumi to accurately memorize and recall so easily. At the very least, she recognized he was “someone with a name”, which by Izumi's standards was a lot said.

That name was Leterrié.

Captain Sehegilia Den Duneb Alais Leterrié.

Not that Izumi could know it at the time, but the man who had so graciously agreed to assist with Yuliana's sword practice was none other than Miragrave's second-in-command.

Removing his surcoat, chestplate, and utility belt, Leterrié drew his sword.

“Will you not turn away?” he asked. “Will you not consider the lives of my men as sufficient repayment for your friend? So far as I am considered, I have lost more on this quest.”

“Repayment?” Izumi repeated.

“Enough people have died, don’t you think? I would prefer not to add to them any more.”

“Hey, tell me. Since you seem to know the value of human lives so well, why don't you tell me this—Exactly how do you begin to pay back something that’s priceless?”

“Lady Izumi, please...”

“Rise said she owed me for saving her life. That by saving me enough times, we'd be equals again. Isn't that silly? She had it all wrong. I couldn't even begin to understand how much I owed her, until I realized I couldn't ever make up for it. Don’t you feel sorry for her? There was no hope of us ever becoming equals by any means. Your blood, the blood of your knights, the blood of that Vizier, the blood of your whole Empire—would only be pocket change next to what I got from that girl. I don't get it. What should I do now? I really have no idea. Killing you won't even make up for the interest. But, well...I suppose it's a start.”

“I see there is no other way then.” Gripping his sword tighter, Leterrié looked sternly back at Izumi. “Come, my friend. You will find that I am not selling my life so cheaply.”

“I don't know if you noticed but it's not a branch I'm holding today.”

Had this ancient land ever witnessed a scene more bizarre and tragic in its unrecorded history? Facing off in the middle of the abandoned village, surrounded by corpses and broken houses, were a valiant knight of the Empire and a woman summoned from another world.

Itaka Izumi, in her two-handed stance, facing forward, the Amygla's tip at the level of her line of sight.

Captain Leterrié, his sword raised above his head, in the stance he knew as the Swan, ready to strike.

Like that night on the field outside Varnam, they now stared through one another.

This time, there would be no lessons. No advice. No rematches. No illusions.

Only one would leave this place alive.

Izumi's weapon was far heavier. Leterrié knew blocking it directly was too dangerous. He had to bet on superior mobility and land the first strike, which was why he had removed his cumbersome armor. Izumi wore no armor in the first place, but the sizable weapon would slow her. She needed to build up sufficient momentum to deliver a killing blow, and certain time and distance were required to do so. If only he could seize the initiative right away, she wouldn't be able to keep up. That was why he had picked a high stance over her mid-stance. All he had to do was keep that massive weapon from ever being raised, and it would be his victory.

Leterrié was good-intending, not stupid.

The knight had discreetly gathered all the tactical advantages to his side before the battle even began. He had learned from their brief confrontation before and knew not to underestimate this woman.

Meanwhile, what thought Itaka Izumi?

How did she prepare her heart for this fateful confrontation.

Nothing. Nothing at all went through her mind.

They had faced off once before—she never doubted she would win. The possibility didn’t even enter her consciousness.

The knight slowly advanced. Bit by bit, he inched forward, while Izumi remained still, expressionless, as if asleep.

The tip of the Amygla wavered a little. She had to be tired.

Judging he was close enough, the knight made his move.

Leterrié quickly threw his whole body forward and swung down his arms, to strike away the sword blocking his way. The second move following right after, a stab through the shieldless chest, would end the fight.

But he was too slow.

——“TSUKI!”

The woman let out a loud shriek in a foreign language. The force of her voice hit him like a blast of air, making his spirit waver for one fleeting fragment of a second. An instance too long. By the time he recovered, the tip of the Langorian greatsword had stabbed through his throat.

This in one step.

In the second step, Izumi was past the knight captain, extracted the blade, spun around, and sliced off his head.

“By the way, stabs to the throat are prohibited in low-grade kendo,” she remarked over his corpse and carried on. “Don't try this at home, okay?”

There was a lesson, after all.

Izumi continued to run, through the ancient village, deeper and deeper into the woods, following the beaten path.

To the source of it all. And the end of it.

3

The horses refused to go on. Vizier Attiker knew it had been a mistake to let the knight driving the cart off, but he had wanted to be alone when he would find the spring. He was no horseman, though he knew how to ride one well enough. The pair before the cart now was wholly opposed to going on and his orders had no effect on them whatsoever. They neighed anxiously and pulled the cart to the side, where the wheels dug deep into the soft trench, causing the whole thing to tilt dangerously.

It was as if the animals were frightened by something ahead. Or just plain stubborn.

“Fine,” Attiker told them after reluctantly climbing off the cart. “I will tell his majesty. You're sausage. Wurst.”

Despite his threats, there were no alternatives. He had to continue on foot. If the spring was close by, the barrels could be carried there and back by hand. A strenuous job, but if twenty able-bodied knights couldn't do it, then who could? After one last scowl of disapproval at the disobedient horses, the Vizier left to follow the barely visible path through the waist-length grass.

After a short distance, he discovered that there would've been no way to take the cart through there in the first place. The path grew narrow and bumpy. It was difficult even to walk, still muddy and slippery from all the rain.

Attiker nearly tripped over the treacherous roots and vines several times. The slim strings of spider webs hanging everywhere clung to his face, making him spit and shudder. He was hot in his thick overcoat and wiped sweat off his forehead.

The air seemed mysteriously warm here, misty and humid.

Had the forest fire reached this far?

This is Hel. The nest of misery where the dishonorable dead are cast and forgotten for eternity.

The trail continued downward, at a continuously steepening angle.

It couldn't even be called a path anymore, just a muddy, filthy ditch carved into the soft hillside by rainwater. Did the Varnamians really come this way? This was their holy ritual? Each time a new initiate was let in on the big secret, they would trek down this hideous footpath, risking injury?

No way. It started to seem more and more likely that Holms had lied to save his neck. The abandoned town had proved to be true, but that didn't mean there was a spring as well. Exactly what awaited at the end of this treacherous way? Surely not the dungheap of ancient settlers?

I knew I shouldn't have let him go. I've gone soft. 'I have a family', boo-hoo! Who doesn't, you dumb little bastard. Laws and contracts my ass, I'll have the man whipped silly once we get back.

The Vizier slipped.

The soil gave out under his heel and Attiker fell on his back, sliding down the muddy slope without control, certain he would break his leg at the bottom. However, the trail delivered him to the destination with almost disappointing softness and ease, finally expelling him onto level ground.

“What I wouldn't suffer...for the good of my country,” the man sighed, wrestling himself back up to his feet and wiped his lap, his coat caked in red-brown mud all over.

However, what he saw next disgusted him far more than the state of his clothes.

Attiker thought he had slid down the side of a ridge, with the forest continuing as usual ahead. He was mistaken. What he had fallen down in was a large pit, a cylindrical depression at the bottom of the forest. He stood on a narrow rocky platform, and a foot or two beneath it was a pool of water.

Not simple water.

It was a nauseating chasm of filth, deep crimson in color, too turbid to see through. As if someone had managed to wound the very earth itself, this pool was where the drained blood gathered and rotted, that was how it looked. There was a weirdly sweet, thick stench hovering above the water.

Attiker hadn't imagined it. The pit was clearly warmer than the air, giving off light steam. There was no telling how deep the pool was, or what kind of unpleasant life forms dwelt in it.

“Don't tell me...This?” The Vizier looked around in disbelief. “This is the fabled spring? The grand secret those peasants were keeping for all this time? The source of eternal youth? This...this cesspool!? This isn't fit for consumption! I can't take even one vial of this shit to his majesty! He'd have my head on a platter!”

—“Oh, you mean he too?”

“What...?”

The Vizier turned around.

Behind him, sliding down the trail, was a woman—Itaka Izumi.

“You—what are you doing here?” he asked. “What happened to all the knights?”

“Nothing worth writing songs about,” Izumi answered.

Attiker didn't understand. She had to have sneaked past the soldiers somehow. The flora had grown dense, it wasn't impossible to crawl in the grass unnoticed. The alternative, that this woman had somehow carved her way through twenty knights...It was absurd. Impossible.

He looked at the greatsword she carried. Its blade was painted all over in red. Whatever the truth, the fact was that he now stood trapped between the pool of filth and that murderous woman.

Izumi unbuckled the magnetite vest and removed her sword, dropped them on the ground, and walked on. Was she planning to finish things with her bare hands, the Vizier wondered. Then, she unbuttoned her surcoat too. In a rush, she tore off her shirt next and kicked off her shoes.

“W-what are you doing, you mad woman!” The Vizier yelled at her when she started pulling off her pants and underwear. Without answering, now fully naked, Izumi picked up the pace and walked steadily towards the man—and past him.

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” she said and leaped off the ledge, into the red pool.

In horror and dismay, the Imperial advisor watched the woman drop into the foul water with a massive splash. She soon surfaced again and wiped her face. The viscous liquid clung to her skin and hair, coloring her completely red, not all that unlike real blood.

Scooping the water in her palms, Izumi lifted it to her lips and drank it.

“What are you doing!?” Attiker yelled at her, thinking he was going to faint. “Get out of there!”

“You’re loud,” Izumi frowned at him. “See? My feet reach the bottom here. It's perfectly safe. Just like a hot spring.”

“Who cares about that!? This—whatever it is—it can't be healthy! Isn't that obvious just by looking at it? Why did you drink it, you lunatic!?”

“It's not that bad, really,” the woman shrugged. “Doesn't taste like much anything. A bit sweet, maybe? It's not blood, if that's what you're thinking.”

“I didn't ask for your appraisal of it!”

“Well, my options were: don't drink it and die of old age; drink it and get poisoned; drink it and nothing happens; or maybe drink it and get young again. One out of four, I can take those odds.”

“Whatever!” he exclaimed. “Well? Is it working? Do you feel any different?”

Izumi looked at her hands and observed her body's reactions for a moment.

“It's pretty hot and nice to soak in, but I don't feel anything special...”

“You don’t look any different! Oh, bollocks! It was a lie.” The Vizier kicked the mud. “There was no spring of life! Oneiromancers, gatekeepers, divines, ancient cults, all of it was lies, from beginning to end! Metaphors, smoke and mirrors. We came here for nothing, simple as that.”

“Nothing?” Izumi repeated.

“That's right, nothing!” Attiker stressed. “It was a failure. And I'm leaving.”

“Hey, hey...”

The woman's expression turned grim and she waded back towards the shore.

“I almost changed my mind back there,” she said. “For a moment, I thought there was nothing wrong with growing old. I thought life without youth might actually be still worth living. But you left me with no choice. If I didn't come here and drink this shit now, that girl would've died for nothing! She believed in me. To the end, she believed in me. In a nobody like me, who achieved nothing in life, who wasted her days wishing for the impossible. Had I chosen otherwise somewhere along the way, maybe I could've met her sooner? Had I tried a little harder, maybe I could've kept this from happening? I can't stop thinking about that and it hurts!”

Izumi climbed out the water and approached the man with quick strides.

Before the nightmarish sight, Attiker backed up, but she quickly reached him and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, lifting him up. The strength in her arms forced the man on tiptoe.

“And for what reason did I lose her?” she continued to question him. “Nothing, he says! So many died getting you here, to this place, and now you say you don't want it? What are you, a baby!? You don't get to give up!”

“I—I have no idea what you're talking about, you mad witch! Unhand me!” he shouted at her.

Izumi turned and dropped him on the rock floor with a hip throw. Then, seizing him by the back of his collar, she started to drag him towards the pool. He tried his best to resist, like a cat being forced into bath, but his hands and feet failed to gain traction on the slippery floor.

“A miracle or not, it's what you came for,” Izumi said. “So take it. Fight for it to the end! Yes. Take it to his majesty or drink it yourself, I don't care. But don’t say it’s nothing!”

“What are you doing, sto—mmhhhhhnnnngggbbbgbgmh—!”

After reaching chest-deep, Izumi pulled the Vizier up close, forced him underwater and held him in place. He kicked and struggled, blindly groping at her with his hands, but Izumi held him firmly face down and there was nothing he could do.

“Oommhhh——!!”

Large bubbles surfaced in an incessant stream, the remaining air in the man's lungs rapidly depleted. But Izumi wouldn't let go.

“Well? How is it? Drink up! Unite mankind, unite the world, rule over all the races, make everybody live forever! I don't care what you do with it! Take it all, every last drop! I'll even cough up what I took, if you want it. Just take it, take it, take it, take it, take it, take it, and give me my Rise back, you bastard—!”

The struggling arms slowly lost tension.

The kicks grew sparse and feeble. The bubbles stopped coming. But Izumi wouldn't let go. As if she were a sailor thrown overboard and the Vizier’s body a lifebuoy, she gripped him with all her might.

——“He's dead.”

Then, after who knows how long, Izumi was brought back to her senses by a hand gently touching her arm. She slowly released her hold of the Imperial, who floated without tension in the murky water.

The woman turned slowly to her right and saw Yuliana stand by her side. The look in the princess's crystal-clear eyes was full of pain and compassion, making it heart-breaking to look at. Seeing it, Izumi's anger dissipated and she regained her situational awareness.

“Let's go back,” Yuliana told the woman, her lip trembling.

“...Okay”

Feeling numb, Izumi followed the girl back to the shore.

However, they had barely crawled up from the pit, when suddenly a loud, majestic voice boomed from somewhere above them.

“Humans!”

That deep voice filled the entire pit. It didn't sound like a voice produced by human vocal cords. Turning around, alarmed, the two women looked for its source. And what they saw next made them doubt their eyes.

A large elk walked towards them, straight across the air, as though on invisible stairs.

It was a majestic creature, with pale, silvery fur, crowned as the king of the forest with a pair of enormous antlers. While she didn't know enough to say for sure, Izumi was fairly certain that regular elks in this world couldn't speak human languages any better than those in her own, nor fly.

This left very few options to explain the nature of this fantastic beast.

The Divine of Felorn, the messenger of Hamaran——Matheus, the Lord of Streams.

“Um, hello?” Izumi greeted the elk.

Yuliana was too astonished to even speak.

“Hamaran would weep, were he here to witness this day,” the spirit spoke. Not that it moved its mouth, the sound had to have been telepathic in nature. “Humans raiding our holy grounds, burning, betraying, slaying, trampling the ancient vows, desecrating all that is pure and good. Answer me now, blasphemers! Why do you insist on forcing this evil on us? What has made Felorn the target of your boundless corruption? Have you already run out of lands to pillage? Are there no more beautiful things left elsewhere in the world for you to plunder and rape? Speak! For I do not understand!”

“Well, I don't know about the others,” Izumi answered, “but I just came here for a drink.”

“You sate your thirst with expensive mead!” the Divine howled. “There is much I can forgive, but not this! Do you not see it? Our creator made your days numbered as an act of mercy! The emiri and goti are forced to carry the ever-growing burden of their years upon them, never to know rest or release. They go on until the expansive eons crush their spirits and they become torn apart by the horror of existence. From all this, humans are spared! You are able to meet death in peace and comfort, surrounded by love and your kin! You may leave life ere it becomes a curse upon you, singing its praises until the hour you expire, to then start anew! Yet you would discard this priceless gift of your own will? To reach beyond your Divine measure is a cardinal sin! Envy and ignorance have become your religion, lowly cretins! Have you any last words left, before I take you to the netherworlds whence no soul returns?”

“Forgive us, Lord,” Yuliana bravely looked up and said, as frightened as she was. “My companion is not a human like us and unaware of our traditions. Pray pardon her for her transgression. I have no intention to bring any harm to Felorn, and those who sought to insult you have already paid with their lives. Let us leave here and we shall not return!”

“Lies!” the elk's voice grew louder. “So many times did I warn you! So many times did I give you the choice to leave! Yet, you slay my servants and force on, your apologies like the buzzing of flies! Now that you stand here, it is too late! Your intentions have been laid bare, your sins heavy as the roots of the earth! You claim to be free of guilt, yet continue to hide evil in your midst! Did you think we would not see through your disguises, foolish child!?”

“Please, Lord!” the princess insisted. “We did everything in our power to prevent this! But do you truly feel you have no responsibility in the matter? You kept striking us in the name of warning, yet took people’s lives without remorse! You should know, as a Lord of the same God, that human spirits will ever rise against oppression!”

“Who are you to speak to me of spirits!” The weight of the Divine’s presence grew crushing, his roar deafening. “Enough of your blasphemous slander! I will show you your place in the world, before I leave you to repent in the formless beyond! Ready yourselves!”

“Don't be so angry. It's bad for your heart,” Izumi told the Divine.

As nonchalant as she acted, Izumi was far from confident in her chances. She had fought various kinds of opponents since coming to this world, and for that, she could tell more or less that the entity before her now was in a league of its own.

The animal hovering in the air, outside anyone’s reach, radiated indomitable might, free of mortal weaknesses. It was neither a man or a monster—an avatar of godly power, veiled in an ancient, timeless presence.

How was it even going to attack? There was no way to guess it just by looking.

Izumi glanced briefly over her shoulder, at the sword lying on the ground, a few feet away. Would she reach it before she would be killed? If she were alone, she would’ve tried regardless. But Yuliana was with her. If she made a mistake, losing the girl as a consequence—the thought alone paralyzed her. Was there no other way…?

Meanwhile, Yuliana—knelt.

Lowering her head, the princess closed her eyes, brought her hand to her chest, and spoke,

“Hear me, o' radiant sprite, I beseech thee, Noon of the White Sun. Become my blade, coat me in thy wings. Guard me with thy blessings. Bring upon thy foes the purifying blaze. Lord of Light, the keeper of my soul, thy vessel calls thee by thy hallowed name—Aesa Aiwesh.”

“What—?”

Even the heavenly elk was astonished by the mysterious ritual.

But even more surprised it was to see the princess's form disappear in an eruption of pure white light. From that light extended two pairs of large wings, and the radiance soon condensed around a different figure, clad in an immaculate white garb.

That sublime vision now stepped lightly up in the air and confronted the elk at equal level.

“That visage…?” Matheus spoke, stunned. “It cannot be—Aiwesh? You yet have form?”

“The songs of my death are greatly exaggerated,” the Lord of Light greeted her sibling with a wide smile. “How do you do, brother? It has been a while. Close to thirty-eight thousand years, six months, and thirteen days since we last saw one another, unless I am mistaken.”

“Where have you been for all this time?” Matheus questioned his fellow spirit. “Why did you desert the goti? Why did you abandon the people of your Maker? Your own house?”

“The old creeps were too boring, so I left them,” Aiwesh lightly answered. “Lately, I have begun to find your people more appealing. In fact, I would prefer to have them all for myself. Since you appear to care as much for them as I for my own.”

“What senseless jest is this?” Matheus's confusion only deepened. “People may not be traded, as pearls and buttons. Moreover, you have taken a human for a vessel? You have violated the Covenant! Our kind is not to possess sentient entities! You know this! Or do you mean to make yourself a king among men?”

“I do not recall putting my name on any agreements,” the winged spirit answered without care.

“This chaos, it is your doing then?” the elk questioned her. “Have you instigated this crusade against the forest to seduce the humans? Is it to extend the days of your stolen followers? O', how low have you fallen! I once saw you as my sister among the rest, even where others loathed the very sight of you! And this is how you repay my love? With war?”

“Don’t be so paranoid, brother. It makes you seem weak,” Aiwesh dismissed his words. “Perhaps you should get out of these dusty old woods more often? The world is not quite so simple as you seem to think of it as.”

“What…?”

“You were always so hasty in the past. Jumping into conclusions before others have finished what they have to say. In that sense, you are indeed much alike your humans. I have brought no one here, and could not care less about your bath tub. But, to be truthful with you, meeting you one of these days was a private wish of mine, for an unrelated reason. Being given that opportunity so soon, I thank the stars.”

“What reason...? What are you talking about…?”

Aiwesh floated closer, reached our her hands and gently touched the head of her brother—or his vessel—caressing the great antlers.

And then said with the sweetest smile on her lips,

“I would like you to——die for me, brother.”

Suddenly gripping the antlers, the Lord of Light proceeded to break them off the beast's head in a brutal display of force. With its skull shattered, blood gushed out of the animal's head in massive horizontal torrents, spilling over the pool underneath. Discarding the horns, Aiwesh lifted her slim arm and without hesitation stuck it through the cracked skull, into the elk's brain.

“My people, your people, your power—I will take all of it,” she announced. “King among men? Do not be ridiculous. Perhaps you are content playing sovereign over anthills, but that is not enough for me. Nowhere close. Until the day everything on Ortho lives and dies by my will, I can only count myself among the lowest of beggars.”

The mauled form of the divine beast slowly disintegrated into tiny, ashen particles and scattered away, the spirit in it drained and devoured by the other. Finished with the deed, Aiwesh descended back to ground level and faced Izumi.

“You ate your own brother,” Izumi noted.

“I did,” Aiwesh answered without remorse. “Now tell me, how do you feel?”

“Well, I think it's pretty sick, to be honest.”

“Not that, my foolish pet. The water you ingested.”

“Eh…?”

“I had wondered what the fabled spring was like,” the Divine said with an amused look. “My brother could not have created such a thing, and it did not sound like Hamaran's business either. In all honesty, I did not think it existed. But now I see. It is sap, from a cithardia. There must be one growing close by. It is spring, after all, so the sap flows thick and gushes forth through any opening. It has mixed into the water in this hot spring, generating a most curious mixture.”

“Sap…?”

Coming closer, Aiwesh's fiery gaze stared through Izumi's naked form.

“I observe changes in your cellular structure. It seems there was some truth to the myth, after all.”

“For real?” Izumi looked at herself, obviously not seeing anything unusual.

“Human cells have a certain mechanism which causes them to self-destruct, when they have fulfilled their purpose and may be replaced. The molecules in the sap bond with the cells and disable that timer, allowing them to exist indefinitely. Ah yes. Much like the disease called cancer in your world! You have become cancer itself, Itaka Izumi.”

“I'm not sure if I appreciate the comparison...” the woman grimaced. “Doesn't that mean I'm going to die?”

“I think not,” Aiwesh said, looking at her closer. “In addition to preserving your cells, they are also kept from dividing, so the occurrence of harmful mutations should be minimal. It will not restore your lost childhood, but in a sense, you have attained longevity. I suppose we can only wait and see what other effects it will have.”

“So, does that mean I'll really live forever now?” Izumi asked.

“Not quite,” the Divine answered. “The toxins and metals already accumulated in your body in your previous world will cause your brain and organs to fail in another two hundred years, or so. Oh, and as your cells are not dividing anymore, your body cannot regrow any lost tissue either. Whatever wounds you sustain must from hereon be restored with magic. But will even your body’s degradation mean your physical death? I suppose it boils down to your definition of ‘life’.”

“In the end, I can't really tell if this was a good deal or a bad one...” Izumi mumbled.

“'Nothing in life is free'—is that not how your people say?” Aiwesh replied. “Ah, I have one more thing to share with you, now that I have the chance. So that you would not despair too soon.”

Leaning forward, the Divine spirit reached out her blood-soaked hands and held Izumi's face. It felt like quite a dangerous position to be in, but just how dangerous, Izumi had no idea. She had a hunch, but it seemed like such an outrageous thing to even suggest, that she soon rejected it from her consciousness. Because of that, she only stood still with a blank look on her face, as the Lord of Light leaned in and—kissed her.

It was a kiss straight on the lips.

A soft but intense kiss.

A gentle but irresistible kiss.

The Divine relaxed her hold a bit, making Izumi think it was over, but then pulled her back, reaching for the woman's tongue with her own, toying, tormenting, comforting, mixing. When she finally let go, Izumi collapsed on the ground, gasping for air, her knees weak. The kiss had tasted like blood—but the fact made it seem mysteriously, absurdly arousing. Unforgettable.

Aiwesh looked down at Izumi with a playful smile and licked her lips.

“Perhaps my vessel will one day overcome her modesty and fulfill her promise to you. But until that day, you may consider this an advance payment.”

“My first kiss...” Izumi muttered. “I had my first kiss taken by a goddess...No one's going to believe this!”

“How many times must I tell you? I am not God,” Aiwesh commented. Then, growing more serious, the spirit added, “In Grelden, I taught you to see through human writing. Now, I have taught you to see through the writing of the Gods. The power of their letters should no longer be beyond you. Make good use of this talent, for you are sure to need it.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Oh, I have given you much tonight, but there is one last bit of advice I feel compelled to share with you, for your own good, Izumi dearest.” Her usual ethereal smile returned to the angelic being's lips as she said,

“Go find some plain water and wash yourself. You stink.”

4

Of the crowd that had set out in search of the miraculous spring, only two returned to the outpost. A pair of exhausted women. One was a princess, the other not from this world. Yuliana had freed the horses made to pull the barrel cart, and gathered those left by the knights, and guided the whole herd back, while riding Riswelze’s gelding. Izumi sat behind the princess. Though there couldn’t have been a better timing to roll the ending credits, the day and the journey were both far from over.

The adventurers dismounted outside the palisade and walked in through the side gate, where an assembly of knights was already prepared to receive them. A scout had naturally detected their approach from a distance away.

The Imperial elite company's numbers had greatly dwindled over the past few days. Not even ten were left standing. The wounded had been carried aboard the wagons, where they struggled with their injuries and fever. But the survivors burned with an intense will to live and return to their homes.

Neither Izumi nor Yuliana could foretell what their fate would be like, but they had nowhere to run or hide. Before the line of spears and bows receiving them, the two stopped and waited. They didn’t have the strength or the will left to fight anymore. Whatever the verdict was going to be, they could only accept it.

Colonel Miragrave walked past the line of knights and approached the pair.

Looking at their exhausted faces and muddied, bloodied clothes, she asked,

“What became of Attiker?”

“He had a bit too much to drink,” Izumi answered. “He’s probably going to miss work tomorrow.”

“I see,” the Colonel closed her eyes. “It turns out the water of eternal youth was not fit for drinking, then? I shall pass the news to his majesty.”

“Master...” Yuliana looked at the commander with an apologetic face.

Miragrave turned away and looked to north, towards the gray treeline.

“I presume captain and his men have had their share of the revelries? No, don't say it. The answer is written on your faces. For bringing back their mounts, I should thank you. Hope you have you said your goodbyes to Felorn. If you don't mind, then let us be off without delay. While the daylight lasts us.”

“...Yes,” the princess nodded.

The knights lowered their weapons and left for the mounts and wagons.

What had happened in the woods? Even if there were interested minds among them troubled by that question, no one gave it voice. What they had seen of Felorn so far had depleted their curiosity for a lifetime.

The mission was at an end.

What had been the point of it all?

What were they left with at the end of it?

The time for such answers would come only much later. All anyone cared about was the fact that they were finally free to go home. There was no energy left to waste on secondary matters. After all, the way back was not one mile shorter than the other way.