1

Things were starting to look just a little grim.

“Good heavens, milady, you're drinking me to perdition at this rate! Where did you say you were from, again? The only women I've seen hold their liquor like this painted their faces to hide the growth of their beards!”

In spite of his comment, General Grohn was barely showing hints of intoxication. His mood was improving by the minute, his already loud voice getting even louder, and keeping his articulation precise demanded increasing effort, yet he retained too clear a situational awareness to allow Izumi to slip from his company.

As they enjoyed the banquet's offerings after parting ways with the Duke, the situation had somehow evolved into a drinking contest. Starting from an innocent remark by Izumi, which the General had taken as a humorous challenge, they soon ended up downing cup after cup of Letham's famous red wine.

It was clear that the people of this land paid no heed to the earthly regulations regarding the percentage of alcohol allowed in a drink for it to be considered wine. Or perhaps Izumi's understanding of the common language of Ortho didn't translate the concepts too accurately? Either way, with faith in her high tolerance, Izumi had seen here a classic cinematic opportunity to get rid of her unexpected courter and move along with the plan to locate the fireworks and Yuliana.

It had proved easier said than done.

“Whatever do you mean, General?” she said with a fake smile. “If you feel you've had your fill, then feel free to set down the cup.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” the man laughed in response. “I would hardly dare show my face at the garrison again, knowing I've been outdone in a game of cups by someone who wasn't born wearing a chainmail! Though I must question how come you still look this lucid, my fair rival...?”

“It's all about guts, old man. Guts,” Izumi innocently answered.

“You speak like a sailor, milady!” General Grohn raised his drink, attempting to gather himself. His gaze was starting to wander, but his expression turned softer. “Not that I hate that about a woman. Yes, not at all. My late wife was rather foul-mouthed, if I may say so. Not to speak poorly of the dead, no. No offense. Divines judge me! I considered her verbal readiness always a cause for pride. To sting like a bee, yet turn to honey when needs be. Yes, I rather like that about a woman...”

As the alcohol was beginning to take effect, the man's lobster-toned face started to show more of his underlying motivations, which he had with flawed but nevertheless admirable effort contained behind the gentlemanly exterior so far.

“My, do I resemble your wife that much?” Izumi asked.

“No, to be honest, not in the least,” the General shook his head. “She was a fine woman and I loved her dearly. Too early was she taken from me. But you, my lady...put even the renown imperial nobles to shame with your looks, and the rest with your spirit. Trust me. I have seen a sample of feminine beauty or two in my lifetime. And you are blessed. Most certainly blessed, to the highest degree, and what I wouldn't do to...Whose turn was it again?”

“Yours.”

“Ah, yes, mine it must be, then. Here's to the dearly departed.” The General raised his cup and drank it empty. “But listen to me go, on and on. I tend to prattle a lot when plastered, I know. You sure landed a goldmine with your vineyards, o’ Baroness of Letham, on that I may agree with our host, douche though he has become. But do tell me more about yourself, I implore you. Is there any quality in which I share a likeness to your husband?”

“Fireworks!” Izumi exclaimed, in a desperate attempt to both avoid the topic and get on with the program. It's not like she was immune to the drink herself.

“Fireworks?” the General repeated.

“Yes, we're at a banquet, so where are the fireworks!? I was promised there were going to be some. I so love fireworks! We'd always go view some on a New Year’s Eve and it never felt like a forced social event at all! Where could he be hiding those things, that no-good Duke! I really wish to see some explosions. Now. Right away. As soon as possible. We can't let another minute go to waste!”

“Ooh, indeed, there are always some!” The General went along with the change of subject. “How beautifully they light up the skies, visible even from the streets of the town. Through their blaze, even the poor citizens can get their share of the festival spirit, a glimpse of something perhaps a bit better...”

“Then all the more reason to get things going. Yes! I shall go look for them at once.” Izumi turned to leave.

“I cannot allow you do to that, milady!” the General quickly stopped her.

Izumi froze, feeling the stabbing eyes of the nearby people on her.

“...Not alone, I mean. Yes, let us go and see what's with the hold-up! I’ll give those organizers a piece of my mind!”

Sighing in relief, Izumi followed after the bear-like man, who proceeded to stride up to the nearest servant. “You there, good man. Tell me where you keep your rockets!?”

“R-rockets?” The servant was momentarily stunned by the out-of-nowhere request by the loud, hairy giant decorated with gold.

“Yes, my lovely companion here wants blazes, damn it! Where have you stashed your fire and brimstone? Out with it, in the name of his young majesty's boyhood!”

“T-they're in the shed, your excellency, behind the corner,” the servant answered. “But, it is not midnight yet. Please be patient. They will soon be transported to the roof to be launched.”

“Oh, we're just going have a look, you flank-lanker. Why don't you refill my cup and the lady's too meanwhile, we shan't be for long.”

Shoving his own and Izumi's wine cups into the servant's hands, the General left the confused man and marched off in the direction he'd been given.

This turned out easier than I imagined.

Escorted chivalrously by the arm, Izumi followed General Grohn, and in this fashion, the two exited the banquet area. None of the knights standing in guard at the sides dared to block the imposing General's path.

Going around the corner of the building, they came to a garden. On the other side of it, beyond the bushes trimmed in the shape of a fascinating little maze, beds of fantastic flowers and another, smaller fountain of marble, stood a two-story storage building. Though it was modestly called a storage, a family of five could’ve lived there comfortably. That was apparently the place where they kept the fireworks, on top of various other goods.

“How do they make the fireworks here anyway?” Izumi pondered, as they walked through the garden. “Do they use gunpowder too? But if it there’s gunpowder, then how come there aren’t any firearms?”

“What powder? Fire-arms? Would those be things of Cotlann, milady?” the General asked.

“W-well, you get gunpowder by mixing saltpeter and what was it again? Sulfur?” the woman tried to explain, but the cups of wine she'd enjoyed made the chemistry difficult to convey. “If you set fire on it, it blows up. And then, if you shove the mixture in a hollow pipe of steel with a ball of lead on top, the pressure shoots the lead ball out at like, bazillion miles per hour, and kills anybody in the blink of an eye...And that would win all wars for you nice and easy.”

“Salty pepper and—what in the blazes are you talking about?” General Grohn cackled. His confusion probably wouldn't have been any lesser, had he been sober. “Are you an alchemist too, by chance, lady Ilyene? You sure are full of surprises! But I must say, this is precisely why I am firmly of the conviction that women have no place on the battlefield. Pipes of steel and balls of lead? Bwahahaha! Divines smite me! Pardon me! But let me tell you, my good lady, no soldier in their right mind would ever willingly clutch a weapon that explodes in his hands! That is what we here in Luctretz call, a suicide!”

“Well, it's not so big of an explosion…” Izumi sourly argued.

“Oh, so it would be a small explosion then?” The man ridiculed her. “Could you make a moderate-sized explosion as well? Or perhaps so big of an explosion it wipes out whole armies at once? Kingdoms, even! But then we wouldn't need men with pipes in the first place, would we? It would just be explosions, one after another! Hahaha! Perhaps I should declare myself the winner of our little contest, after all? Eh? Hahahahaha!”

The General continued to laugh so hard he couldn’t walk straight.

It wasn't that funny.

“Geez...” Offended Izumi pouted and gave up on the introduction to modern warfare.

The door of the storage house was left wide open since servants had to come and go all the time. For similar reasons, there were no guards stationed nearby either. Probably half because they would’ve gotten in the way of the workers, and half because the Duke feared they would be tempted to steal the inventory.

Besides the two floors above ground, there was also an underground cellar in the building, for goods that required storing at a lower temperature.

The General brazenly stepped in through the doorway, Izumi along.

A cursory examination revealed there were certainly fireworks inside.

The entire back half of the first floor was full of crates loaded to the brim with colorful rockets, all handmade. There had to have been hundreds of them. They had no plastic wrappers or colorful logos, but still followed the iconic, universal rocket design identical to those on Earth. Some of them were big enough to not fit in any crates and were left to stand against the walls. The organizers certainly hadn't spared expenses planning the show.

Izumi wanted to disassemble one of the rockets to see how it was made, but General Grohn made this plan evaporate from her mind.

“Now,” he said in a lowered, affectionate tone, turning to face Izumi and taking a step closer. “It's just the two of us here.”

“Huh?”

“I know. I feel the same way,” the man reached out his hand and gently traced the line of Izumi's cheek with his bulky fingers. “Surely it was fate that brought our kindred hearts together tonight. Yes, I saw straight away that I had my match in you, Ilyene. That the Divines had at last granted me a second chance at life. No, you are certainly in all respects more than I deserve. I didn't dare to even dream that you'd answer my clumsiness with acceptance. Yet you did. I am most glad.”

“G-general…?”

“Please, Ilyene. Call me Matis.”

Izumi was struck speechless.

In one moment, her mind cleared up enough for her to realize how her sudden proposal to withdraw from the banquet’s commotion had to have appeared to her companion. What other non-criminal purpose could there be in a female leading a male to a secluded place, if not imminent acts of intimacy?

With her wine-induced tunnel vision, thinking only about the operation, Izumi had unwittingly taken such a bold initiative, which she would have been too timid to even fantasize about otherwise.

“...Ha.”

This sudden enlightenment overloaded her already burdened consciousness, overheating her brain and leaving her completely dumbfounded, her expression frozen on her face.

Gently but firmly guiding her chin upward, the tall man leaned forward.

Lewd imagery filled Izumi's distressed mind, enhanced by a life-long consumption of pornographic imagery online. In her mind's eye flashed very lively and detailed visions of a man and a woman engaged in a rough, beastly love-making in the middle of a room full of explosives.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhh!?

The perverse scenario provided simply too much stimulation.

Too much, too much, it was all too much.

But while Izumi's brain was busied by a crossfire of chaotically discharging synapses, General Grohn considered her silent immobility a sign of consent, and brought his bearded face even closer. Their lips were mere inches apart, and Izumi still remained hopelessly undecided on whether the sudden change of business was wanted or not.

Well, a kiss at least should be fine, right?

By the age of thirty-eight, Izumi had never kissed anyone on the lips, not even her own family. Wasn't this good a chance as any to get rid of one persisting source of embarrassment? Surely there were worse ways for it to happen. Who knew when she might get another opportunity? Here, in this place, her life could start over from zero in every area and aspect, unshackled by the mistakes of her youth. Trying to convince herself with such ideas, Izumi squeezed her eyes shut and waited, hearing only her rampant pulse in her ears.

But nothing happened.

The General had suddenly stopped moving.

Chuck.

“Hm?”

The hand holding her chin suddenly grew weirdly cold. Stepping back, startled, Izumi looked up at the man and saw General Grohn's face stilled in a silly expression of astonishment.

Actually, it was quite literally frozen.

Izumi moved her gaze downward and saw that there was something resembling a jewel, a diamond, stuck in the man's chest, sharply pointing outward through the coat front. She soon realized that it wasn't a simple decoration that had somehow gone unnoticed before, but a large icicle protruding all the way through his torso, from the backside. The deadly piece of ice drained heat from its surroundings with unnatural rapidness, freezing the large man from inside out.

General Olliver Matis Grohn was already dead as a rock, his heart impaled by a curse. His outstretched arm, frozen solid, broke off under its own enormity. As his legs lost their flexibility, his unevenly positioned mass made him soon dip forward. That tall body hit the shed's stone floor and shattered into large chunks of frozen meat.

Izumi had been lucky. Had she remained in contact with him for but a few seconds longer, the curse would've reached her as well.

Stepping aside to keep from being crushed under the corpse, Izumi turned her alarmed attention to the front part of the room, looking for the source of the deadly projectile.

And saw a figure robed in black stand in the beam of light cast from the doorway.

“You are…?”

“So you do see me?” Joviél the sorcerer noted, slight surprise in his unhurried tone. “How ironic that you should live past the noon of your brief existence, only to discover your potential at the hour of your nightfall.”

“I'm really not in the shape to follow purple prose like that,” Izumi said, “but are you the one running things around here? Because it was about time somebody looking like a boss made an appearance.”

“Drunken fool,” the elf snorted in disgust. “You know not your own Death when you see it?”

“Death?”

“Yes. Meaningless to me as your existence is, the lord of this house wishes for your demise. And so it shall be.”

“So you're not the last boss but just an underling? Even though you look that evil? Then does that mean the Duke has more HP than you do? Don't tell me he's one of those guys, who only look human but transform into some kind of a gross beast when you get them down to one-third of their health? That would really be a pain.”

Joviél grimaced. The woman was mad, blabbering incomprehensible things instead of begging for her life. Then again, sometimes they did that. The fear of death could drive humans insane, and make them sink into their own little world, where nothing could reach them anymore.

Appalled, the sorcerer raised his staff to repeat the spell.

Inoviath. Icicle of Vile Frost.

The curse meant instant death to any mortal, chilling their very cells.

Simply touching it was enough.

So long as it could be successfully cast, that is.

In the next moment, something flew at the elf.

He shielded himself instinctively with his arms and felt something hit painfully his left wrist. A block of ice? The woman had kicked a frozen piece of the General's corpse at him? The shameless disrespect for the deceased was stunning, after how intimate they had seemed but a minute ago. He had no time to marvel at the human degeneracy any further, however, as something struck Joviél again, in the face, past his guard.

“Gah—!” Dull pain flared through the left side of his head like an electric jolt, making him stagger a step back. Half of his vision was gone, covered in black. His left eye—he couldn't see, he was blinded. What had happened? Had the woman thrown another piece at him? As he looked for the cause, he turned and realized the human was already standing right beside him. “What…!?”

The sorcerer backed away, but the staircase to the upper floor blocked his way and he stumbled.

“You're not very good playing a ranged class, are you?” Izumi remarked. “Why would you, as a caster, ever try to fight someone in close quarters, in a cramped little room like this? If those corny robes are anything to go by, your physical defense is a big round zero and your reflexes honestly aren't too great either. If you were going to kill us, why didn't you ambush us in the garden instead? It doesn't matter if anybody is around, since you're invisible to them, right? Second, since this is a world with realistic combat, it doesn't seem you wizards have anything handy like a lock-on targeting system but have to rely on your eyesight, right? Then what good do you think you are in a fight—if you have no eyes?”

There was something in the woman's fingers. Something small, round and covered in blood. In horror, Joviél realized that it was an eyeball. His own left eye, gouged out of its socket. The piece of ice had been only a distraction, to buy the woman the few seconds she needed to get within the striking distance.

“By the way, I'm the daredevil type that turns fearless when she's drunk,” Izumi said, squashing the eye in her hand like a ripe grape, dark goo oozing between her fingers. “Would you mind telling me where I can find the princess? This eye doesn't seem to know. Maybe the other one is better informed? Or should I go for the tongue next? Ah, but it won't tell me anything if it's not attached to your body. Silly me!”

Daemon! Monster!

In a figurative blink of an eye, the elven magician had returned to his fabled city of birth, in the now lost land of Amarno. He recalled in high precision the hungry flames that had devoured his family mansion, the cries of his countrymen as they were trampled and slaughtered on the streets in the raging pandeaemonium. The primitive terror that gripped his heart now vividly reminded him of those traumatic days long gone, causing every last one of his spells to vanish from his memory, save for the one he was most accustomed to using.

And so, for the first time in his life that had spanned a reputable eight hundred years, Joviél of Elevro—ran from battle.

With a frantic wave of his hand, he opened a portal of shadows and slipped away from the storage room as quickly as he could.

Izumi saw him off with a pout.

“What's the rush?”

Unsure if the portal was the type you could see in wild science fiction flicks that simply severed anything going through it as it closed, she refrained from attempting to pursue the magician.

“So this is the kind of people Yule’s playing with?”

The unpleasant feeling Izumi had felt before was now rekindled within her, stronger.

And here she realized what it was: anger.

Fury Izumi had scarcely felt burned in her heart with unprecedented, uncontrollable ferocity.

It was not anger over the unjust murder of the General, or her own near-death experience. It was at base the overprotective, jealous fury of a mother hen, as she discovers her naive daughter has ended up in a bad company.

It was anger and dismay at herself, for not understanding to keep a closer eye on the girl. The feeble excuses like, “I'm not really even related to her,” and “we only met the day before yesterday,” seemed unforgivable now, silenced by the dark storm that rolled on without coherence, unrestrained by her intoxicated mind.

“Oh my. I might just be too angry for my own good now.”

2

The humiliation princess Yuliana went through meanwhile knew no bounds.

“—Over the seas raise bolder a gaze, brave the storm of the southern seas...!”

In an effort to buy herself some time to think and delay her fate, the princess had started singing. She was confident in her use of voice, honed through her role as a commanding officer, and for a while the audience did go along with the unrequested change in program.

Too bad, as a knight and a member of royalty brought up to follow a secluded and ascetic lifestyle, all Yuliana knew were old, corny Langorian ballads and marching rhymes. And simply having an audible voice never made anyone a good singer.

After a while, the limited selection was starting to make the crowd yawn, even as she bravely fought the overwhelming embarrassment in the presentation. Having to stand in front of this gallery of beasts in only her corset and underpants didn't exactly lessen the shame and it rendered her performance fairly rigid at best.

There had been a brief interruption a while ago, as someone had smelled smoke. Every place had been searched and a few men had gone to take a look outside, if something was on fire that wasn't supposed to be. What they found instead was part of the wall frosted, despite the fact that the spring night was a warm one. It had caused quite a bit of confusion and speculation, but eventually things had returned to usual.

And it didn't look like Yuliana would get called for an encore.

“I don't get these Langorian tunes,” one of the knights voiced his complaints. “How am I expected to ride into battle feeling all shitty inside, like after a night of hangover horrors and hemorrhoids? Don't you know anything, I don't know—cheerier?”

“Oh, we're in the company of a true bard then?” Yuliana retorted. “Then why don't you come up and put a show for us instead? The stage is all yours!”

“Why, I know a good dozen songs foxier than your weepers! Like here's one I learned from—”

“Oh, screw that!” another guard objected. “What is this, a sing-along night now? Am I supposed to rub one off to your midriff while humming the anthem, or what? Not too grand in terms of foreplay, in my opinion. It is high time the panties went off!”

“Are you completely out of your mind, you old goat?” a third knight exclaimed. “What kind of an order of things is that? First is the corset, obviously! The appetizers before the main course, did yer mum kick the bucket before teaching you even that!”

“Wasn't a custom in my house to take bed lessons from my mum. Maybe things were different in yours.”

“What the fock did you just say, whoreson!”

“Aye, my mum may have been a whore, but at least she had some standards. It wasn't a family business.”

“You're dead!”

In no time, the two were locked in a scuffle, with the others cheering their favorite on, instead of trying to stop them. Yuliana sighed, half outgrossed, half in relief for having delayed her fate a few more seconds. She had to find a way out.

“I say, who gives a shit about the order, so long as the chick gets undressed!” Someone eventually remembered the original topic. “And fast! The wyvern in my pants isn't going to wait much longer.”

This direct proposal gained quick support and the fighters begrudgingly broke off their brawl, in order to not be left last in the line. Chairs pulled for the musical part were busily kicked and thrown aside, more room cleared around the central table. Feeling like the last lamb left in the stall on a day of feast, Yuliana paled, trying to keep away from the outreached hands. Evading the scoundrels the best she could, she tried to call for a divine intervention once more,

“My lord, I beseech thee, hear me ‘o radiant sprite...Hiya!”

Someone managed to get a hold of the girl's ankle and pulled her out of balance. Without delay, her arms and legs were being tightly gripped by rough hands, and she struggled and kicked in vain to free herself.

“Grant me thy blessings…!”

“What is she, a witch!?”

“The whore's trying to put a spell on us! Don't let her talk!”

Someone forced a rag into Yuliana's mouth, interrupting the incantation.

The mood in the room sank visibly.

“Knew it was too good to be true,” someone spat. “A princess? Bah! Looks like the Duke got scammed.”

“Thank Divines I didn't have to pay for this tramp.”

“Well, she's got where it counts, doesn't she? I still can't tell a witch apart from a princess by the groin alone.”

“Like you could tell a goat apart from a high elf either, by the groin alone, you dumb fucker.”

“You mean there's a difference?”

Obnoxious laughter filled the hall.

This is it, then…?

Realizing she had no more cards to play, no strength to overpower her captors, Yuliana could only resign to her fate, as her remaining clothes were being violently torn from her.

—“Fire, fire!”

A sudden yell stopped the hands groping at her.

Everyone turned to look at the shouter, who in turn pointed at one of the rear windows. He hadn't been lying. There were undeniably flames licking the window sill behind the glass.

“What the bloody ghoul's ass is this?” Outrage and disbelief took over the knights at the second sighting of smoke tonight.

“Someone's clowning around!”

“Who the devil is it!?”

“What are you waiting for!?” an older knight hollered. “Go put it out! You five there. Search the around the house! Now!”

“Why the fuck do we have to go?” the unlucky guards protested. “Can't the bloody day shift do that? It's their job! I don't want to work my arse off while I'm not even on duty, just to swim in these asshats' sloppy leftovers!”

“Fine, fine, whatever! Nobody touches the wench until you get back! Just go get a word to the patrols, and put out that goddamn fire! Get a move on!”

“Ooh, come on!”

Those, who had no orders weren't pleased with having to wait longer. But to avoid being burned alive and another fistfight to top the day off with, the men did as they were told. Five went out to put out the fire, five left to look for the perpetrator and inform the guards presently on duty, and the rest impatiently waited. Though nobody's discomfort could compare with Yuliana's, who had to lie quietly on the table half-naked, a stinking rag in her mouth.

After a period that felt like a small lifetime, the guards returned.

Apparently, someone had gathered dry leaves and branches and set them on fire under the window. But whoever it was, they were long gone and not a trace of them was left.

“If only we had bloody dogs,” someone said.

“Can't help it, the Duke hates dogs.”

“Of course he does, the asshole. And who can say why? Not like he has to marry them!”

“Rather marries witches, what a fag.”

“Enough. Shall we finally get on with the show here?”

The knights started to throw away their armors and unbutton their trousers. Squeezing her eyes shut, biting the rag, Yuliana tried her best to close off her senses, shut away the outside world, and forget she had ever been born.

But that turned out impossible.

——BABAAAM!

At that moment, a loud sound of explosion shook the roof of the longhouse, making the window panels tingle. It was immediately followed by other, similar booming sounds of varying intensity, as if the heavens themselves had started to rupture.

It seemed someone had started the fireworks.

But it wasn't midnight yet. Why were they all going off so quickly and close by, instead of high in the sky? The guards listened on in silence, twisting their faces, confused. What was going on?

“You there, go see what's up this time!” the commanding officer ordered those nearest to the doorway.

Once again, scouts were deployed.

After another while of impatient waiting, one of them came running in.

“A fire! A fire!” he cried.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?”

The reception was not grateful.

“The storehouse is in flames!” the poor messenger shrieked. “With all the rockets and shit still inside! We're all gonna burn!”

“Lies!”

“It's true! I swear!”

“Then not even the Lord of bleeding Daemons can stop that shit now.”

“A few stray shots hit the front yard. The guest are in a downright frenzy! We need help to herd them out, or else they'll be all over the place like three hundred headless fucking chickens! That are smashed.”

“That's it then, boys,” the one who appeared to be the officer in charge stood up, displaying commendable nerve in the dire situation. “Everybody out. Fells, Malloy, Elson, you stay watch the witch. Twenty to the front gate, the rest to the well, buckets in hand.”

“Son of a bitch...”

As demoralizing as the news were, the guards weren't mad enough to ignore the reality outside but obediently gathered their gear, and left to save what was left to save of the Duke's party.

Yuliana, who knew nothing about the cause of the noise, was too exhausted and dejected to find any courage in the news. She was still being held down, gagged and with no one to save her. Rather, all she wanted was an end to the torturous switching of hope and despair, no matter what shape it took.

Who would grant that wish, if anyone?

3

Guards poured out of the longhouse to assist their struggling day shift companions in containing the unexpected situation. Some went to retrieve buckets and water from the well, the rest hurried to the front yard to help direct the panicking guests out. A few braver departed in the direction of the colorful flames and explosions that raged on the other side of the manor, to assess the damage and see if anything could be done to save the loaded storage.

The first two in the latter group ran into an unexpected distraction along the way. Meeting them on the walkway, coming from the blazing garden's direction, was an older woman in a green dress.

A lost guest? Why was she there? How had she gotten past the other guards? If she was looking for a way out of the disordered estate, then her heading couldn't have been more mistaken.

Even under the circumstances, it never occurred to any of the guards that she could have had something to do with the disaster, that she might have used one of the lanterns in the garden to set the fireworks ablaze.

Ignoring the fiery inferno in the background, the woman smiled at the knights as she approached and asked,

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but would you happen to know where I may find the princess?”

The first guard at the front—a more civilized fellow—quickly considered crafting a quick lie about the royal guest having retired to her chambers due to exhaustion, but the continued string of green and violet flashes shooting out from the tall fire, accompanied by shrill whistles, made him lose patience before he got that far,

“Oh, none of your goddamn business, ma'am. Now get out of here, before I—”

The man couldn't make it any further.

Without stopping, the woman walked on, stepped in front him and grabbed the handle of the sword sticking from his belt. She unsheathed the weapon with a swift pull and shoved the blade up through the bottom of the guard's hefty jaw.

“My, my. Nobody seems to know,” she lamented absentmindedly, before tilting her head to ask the guard behind the first one. “Do you perhaps have an idea?”

Something made a banging noise behind.

The guard instinctively looked over his shoulder. The cause of the odd sound was his comrade's helmet dropping on the pavement, propelled from its owner's head by the tip of the sword sticking up from the pierced skull.

“Ha...?” Trying desperately to process what had just happened, the guard slowly faced forward again.

“Ha?” Izumi parroted, moving past the dead knight, who slowly fell on his face. “Would you like to elaborate a little?”

“T...the guardhouse...” the man breathed. He was too stunned to think about lying. “She's in the guardhouse.”

“Oh, is that so? Thank you very much.”

As she passed him, Izumi hit the man with a right hook, sinking her thumb and index finger through his eyesockets. Then, grabbing the bridge of his nose, she pulled the man's head sideways with her full weight, like spinning the roulette wheel, until his neck made a gut-wrenching noise and snapped.

“Now which one of these buildings here is the guardhouse? I suppose I'll have to ask the next one for that.”

More knights were running here and there around the backyard. Most of them were too busy to pause and question what a lone guest was doing so far away from the banquet area. The threat of the whole manor being burned down by stray rockets was more urgent.

One of them, however, spotted Izumi in the midst of the chaos and changed his course to approach her.

“Hey, your name's not...E-zoom-é, is it?” the knight stopped and asked, to the woman's surprise. He was younger than the others she had seen before, and his face didn't look like that of a veteran mercenary.

“Eeh, not really, but vaguely close, maybe,” Izumi stopped and answered.

“Was about damn time,” the stranger said. “I've been looking for you all over, where the Hel have you been? Ris told to deliver you this and I have no clue why I ever agreed. Do you have any idea what would've happened to me if they caught wind of it? You have to be out of your goddamn mind!”

The guard was carrying something in his hands, a rolled up carpet, which he now unwrapped and dropped the object inside on the lawn. Surprised, Izumi noted that what he had so apathetically discarded was the treasured Langorian greatsword.

“Oh my,” she said. “Could it be, you're the insider Rise was talking about…?”

“No shit I am,” the youth nodded, glancing cautiously around. “Have you been drinking? I was told you're a freaking professional! I am an associate of the Circle, yes. You haven't seen Ris, have you?”

“No,” Izumi shook her head, thinking the young man really was too rude.

“Damn it all. Something must have happened to her. She never showed up at the agreed contact point.”

“Rise's disappeared?” Izumi repeated with a frown. “I'm sorry, I have no idea where she might be.”

“Not surprised. Whatever. You're here for her majesty, right? She's in the building past the stables, on the far side of the hill. Hurry. Those bastards are going to make her their plaything. I tried to buy some time, setting a fire under the window, but I don't know if anything will hold back those beasts for long. I don't think there's anything you can do with that many of them still running around, but I will try to create more distractions. Look for an opening and get out of here! Good luck.”

The turncoat knight darted off, in the garden's direction.

Izumi watched after the youth for a moment, trying to recall all the things he had said and get them to sink in her clouded consciousness.

“Rise is gone? Yule is a plaything?”

She should've been made more restless, anxious by the news.

And yet, as Izumi crouched to pick up the sword and examined it in her hands, trying its familiar sharpness, she realized her lips were twisted into a smile, like having been reunited with an old friend.

“That's right. This isn't the time to be sad. Look for an opening—wasn't that what my old master would always say? Very well then. I will give you guys plenty of new openings, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. Otherwise, I won't know what to do with myself.”

Lifting the greatsword up on her shoulder, Izumi stepped forward and continued her solitary march.

4

Yuliana's torturous existence had boiled down to monotonous, all-encompassing discomfort, as she silently counted down for worse to come. Tired, exhausted, resigned, she was barely aware and awake, yet not asleep either.

Her wait ended in a loud crash coming from the doorway. She expected to see her captors return from their errand and her violation to resume, but weirdly enough, that didn't happen.

Only one guard came in, technically, one of the three left to watch over the princess. He had gone out to urinate but returned impaled through the chest by a huge weapon, collapsed in back-first.

The death of the guard was abrupt enough, but nowhere near as sudden as the sight of a noblewoman entering the hall in his wake.

A lady in a fluffy, green dress and long, thick, curly hair, she hardly lost to a figure from a ballad in the spectacular fashion of her entrance. It was only after a slight lag that Yuliana realized the surprise visitor was no a hallucinated Goddess of War, but her past companion.

“Little pigs, little pigs,” Itaka Izumi bluntly stepped on the guard's corpse and drew the bloodied greatsword from his flesh.

The newly lit, nearly bewildered hope on Yuliana’s face was replaced by a disgusted grimace.

Seeing the grisly fate of their comrade, the two remaining men guarding the princess forgot about her and scrambled for their weapons. Freed from their watch, Yuliana pulled the rag from her mouth in a rush to confirm that she wasn't dreaming things,

“Izumi? Is that you!? What are you doing in here?”

“Hello. Have you been well?” Izumi asked. “Or, should I ask, just how unwell have you been instead? That doesn't look very comfortable to me. But I'm gonna have to put you on hold now. Seems there are still some little vermin crawling about.”

The faster of the guards had found his sword and now approached the surprise visitor. He tried to be cautious and see what the enemy was made of, keeping his guard up, but Izumi unceremoniously walked up to him and threw her the greatsword at him.

“Be a gentleman and hold that for me.”

The man caught the sword by reflex. It was only too late that he realized doing so also kept him from using his hands. Izumi quickly kicked up one of the fallen stools lying around, grabbed it by a leg and bashed the man overhead at full force. His unshielded skull caved in, spilling its colorful contents through the cracks. As the guard slowly sank to his knees, Izumi retrieved both her weapon and his from his unresisting grip.

The second guard fared little better. It would have taken quite a hard-boiled character to not be shaken by a scene so sudden and unreservedly brutal. While he remained momentarily stunned, in the process of unsheathing his sword, Izumi nonchalantly walked past the man and stuck the first guard's sword down his comrade's collar as she passed. Propped upright in this grotesque fashion, the guard fell to sit on the floor, like a fountain piece lazily spraying vermilion.

“I-Izumi…?”

Though she had already witnessed it before, the summoned woman’s brutality still disturbed the princess.

Izumi continued to walk towards her, an indecipherable expression on her blood-stained face. There was something off about her. Even more off than usual, that is. Unable to understand her intentions or even the reason why the woman was here— or even if she was really here and not only a twisted nightmare produced by her tormented mind—Yuliana took a cautious step back.

Clang! With a loud noise, the Amygla fell on the floor.

Spreading her arms, Izumi stepped forward, dropped to her knees and—caught the princess's waist in a tight, desperate embrace.

“Ah…?”

The woman's arms wrapped around her, face pressed against her bare stomach, Yuliana was left flustered, ticklish and stupefied, with no idea how to react. “I-Izumi…? It is you, isn't it? What's wrong? Are you hurt? This is...a little weird position for me...”

“I,” the woman slowly spoke, “What am I doing, me...? What have I been doing? What am I going to do? Where am I going? I don't like this world! This world sucks! What am I to do? There's nothing I can do all by myself in this weird place! Don't leave me alone in here! I'm sorry I left you! I'm sorry I treated this like it was a game! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I didn't want you to get hurt! I didn’t mean to let this happen! I was so scared, thinking about all kinds of bad things that they'd do to you! I was an idiot! I was so stupid! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have done it! I won't do it ever again, so forgive me! Please forgive me! I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, don't leave meeeeee...”

“Eh? Why are you the one crying?” Yuliana tried to comfort the sobbing woman. Her legs still weak and trembling after all the thrilling events of the day, she was forced to sit down on the floor. But Izumi wouldn't let go and neither did Yuliana push her away.

Patting the woman's head, ruffling her hair, the princess sighed and said,

“You reek of wine.”

In a while, after confirming Yuliana was as well as she could be under the circumstances, Izumi managed to regain her wits. She slapped her own cheeks to psyche herself up and picked up the greatsword again.

“I'm sorry, but could you wait here for a bit longer?” she asked Yuliana. “I still have to go get Rise back, before we can leave.”

“What do you mean? I'll go with you,” the princess said.

“Appreciate the thought,” Izumi shook her head, “but I'm really not at my best right now and things could get just a little tricky from here on. After all, I always fail the escort missions in games and get my allies killed. It would be a bit too frustrating if something happened to you now, after everything.”

“I understand,” Yuliana said a bit sadly, looking at her shaking hands. “Or rather, I don't. Not one bit. But I do realize that I'm not powerful enough to be of any use to you out there. Not the way I am. One day, I will definitely become strong enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with you on the battlefield—but for now, I will admit my own limits.”

“That's my girl! There, there,” Izumi happily patted the princess's head. “So long as I know you're safe in here, I can go all out without worries!”

“Don't do that,” Yuliana shook her hand off, but not displeased. “Can you promise me you'll be all right?”

“Nope,” Izumi turned away and denied. “There are no promises in a fight. That’s one big death flag right there. You can get a game over whenever, wherever, especially when you've played for three days straight, and the save point is right in front of you. I learned that from Megami Ten***.”

“What kind of a place was that...?” the princess sighed.

“I'm not going to die, though,” the woman said and turned towards the doorway. “I haven't seen the Demon Lord yet. I haven't met even one high elf lady, or a kitty-eared wizard. I haven't earned my first bounty. I haven't had a single trophy drop yet. That's why, even if this isn't a game and I shouldn't treat it as one, and even if I can’t make any promises, I'm not going to die. Not until I've cleared my life in this world one hundred percent and viewed that one last skit after the credits.”

“Is that right?” the princess found herself smiling at her friend’s usual nonsense. “Well, good luck then.”

Nodding, Izumi moved to leave.

But then stopped and a bit mischievously turned back.

“Could I...um...If there was something you could do for me, then maybe...I mean, if you really, really don't mind...”

“What is it?” Yuliana asked. “If there is a way I can still be of use, then please tell me. I shall do anything in my power, no matter how difficult or dangerous it may be.”

“Ahaha, when you say such pure things with that unsuspecting look on your face, it makes this all the harder for me to ask...”

“Don't worry. Even if it's an absurd request, I won't turn it down. You have my word. I owe you that much, don't I?”

“Really? Your word? Promise you won't get upset?”

“Why would I get upset, what kind of a request is it...? But yes. Really. My word of honor, which I've yet to betray even once, for the good or the bad.”

“Then...”

“Yes?”

“'Could I get a kiss?'——Is what I was thinking! Ahaha...” Izumi lightly chirped and squirmed, looking bashful.

“Huh?” the princess couldn't be sure if she had heard it right. She certainly hadn't expected that.

“I don't plan to die,” the woman mumbled, “but if something does go wrong and I do kick the bucket out there, it'd be pretty awful if I never even got my first kiss, don't you think? I came pretty close to that before, and now it won't stop bothering me. And, it's not like there's anybody else here I can ask...If it's a real princess, then shouldn't it be fine, even between girls…? Or, does it count? It counts, right? A kiss is a kiss!”

“You...you've never kissed anybody?” Yuliana asked, perplexed. Having never married was amazing enough, but to not be kissed even once by that age...What a sad, sad life.

“Somehow, the pity in your eyes hurts way more than any wound...” Izumi quivered. “Don't tell my you've already been kissing lots…? With all the cool knights back home? Even though you're so young! Aah, never judge a book by the cover...!”

“Oh, no, I haven't,” the princess denied it, “But I'm still young and have my reasons! I cannot encourage immoral conduct, as the captain of the guard, and...”

“Well, I have my reasons too!” the woman insisted. “Like being online all day, never going to mixers, and never talking to anybody at conventions...never mind. I understand if you don't want to, it's probably frowned on in a backwater world like this, anyway. Who would want to kiss an old bag like me, huh? I probably look pretty gross in your eyes too...”

“That's not true!” Yuliana spontaneously denied, taking a step forward. “I think you're really beautiful! More beautiful than anyone I know!”

“Eeh?” Izumi fell speechless for once.

The princess realized that what she had said was more daring than she had really intended. But she didn't want to deny it, only averted her face in embarrassment. “I do think so...for real.”

“I’m...You think so?”

“Yes.”

“Even prettier than Ai-chan?”

“I can't deny that my Lord is very beautiful, but I—I still prefer the way you look, personally. I think your beauty is, well, more human, more relatable. I feel warm at heart, just looking at your face—oh, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore! Please forget that! Erase it from your mind.”

“T-then, you're fine with…?”

“Ah. If it's only a kiss you want, that much is perfectly all right,” Yuliana nodded.

“Really?”

“Yes, how many times are you making me repeat it?”

“Just so you know, I'm talking about a real kiss and not some family-friendly fooling around. A passionate, adult kiss, straight on the lips!”

“That's a kiss, yes. What are you waiting for, then? Come closer!”

“O-okay...”

Izumi obediently came closer.

Yuliana, being slightly shorter of the two, took hold of Izumi’s shoulders and raised her chin, wetting her lips with her tongue. Izumi's dress made her look more royal than Yuliana had ever felt herself, despite having been born as one. Though now that dress was smeared in blood all over.

At first, the princess really thought nothing of the kiss.

Rationally, it was no different from kissing her mother—not that she was in the habit of kissing her parent on the lips either. But when it came the time to move from words to actions, Yuliana realized the impression wasn't the same at all.

Not in the least.

The woman's exposed shoulders and neck, her pale, smooth skin, dizzyingly deep cleavage, closed eyes and expectant, soft lips, slightly parted—looking at her, feeling the warmth of another person on her cold skin, Yuliana began to feel weirdly nervous. Her throat was parched and tickled. She had trouble getting the tempo of her breathing under control. Was she sick? Just that exhausted? For some reason, she was certain that if she were to really kiss Izumi now, an important line would be crossed whence there would be no turning back. Something about her, about the world, would change forever.

What nonsense am I thinking? I gave my word!

Still, hesitating, her heartbeat almost painfully loud in her chest, the princess parted her lips. Standing on her toes, she pushed herself forward. And then, at the last possible moment——took hold of the woman by the neck, leaned further in and planted a kiss on Izumi's soft cheek instead.

Smack!

“Eeh...?”

As Yuliana made a hasty retreat, Izumi looked like a child who had asked for a bar of chocolate, only to get one half-eaten cookie.

“T-that's for good luck!” Yuliana exclaimed, flustered. “Now you have one more reason to live! W-we'll do it properly once you come back, so no more talk about dying...!”

“Well, it’s a nice gesture, I guess,” Izumi straightened her posture and pouted, “but you're supposed to save lines like that for the apocalypse, you know?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about!” The princess was certain the accumulated embarrassment tonight was going to be the death of her. “Now hurry up and get going! You have somewhere to be, don't you?”

“Right. I'll be going then,” Izumi said and turned towards the door again, before pausing to add with a bit frightening smile, “but you've really pushed my buttons now. If I do make it back, just a kiss might not cut it anymore.”

Yuliana saw off the summoned hero with a nervous swallow.

5

Riswelze never expected to open her eyes again, yet the young assassin's mind nevertheless surfaced again from the darkness in which it had been forcefully cast. Although, instead of hope, the fact only rekindled despair at her heart.

Riswelze found herself lying in an uncomfortable position on her face in short grass behind the main building. As she tried to get up, she discovered that her hands were firmly bound by thick cuffs of iron. Loud crackling of fire drew her attention to a small house burning in the distance. The whole Haywell hill was lit up by the happily blazing storage building. Most of the rockets had already exploded and burned up, but every now and then a remaining stray missile shot out of the inferno in a random direction, making the people nearby jump.

The main building itself was mostly safe from the fire, being a considerable distance away and made of stone, but the same couldn't be said of the once beautiful garden in between, where a number of the knights was busily struggling to put out the rebellious flames. In spite of their efforts, most of the area's earlier splendor was hopelessly lost, the little maze reduced to cinders, the roses charred and dried.

There were guards all around. How had she ended up in there? The last thing she could recall was running into a robed figure after trying to set the guardhouse on fire. After that, she had been swallowed by thick, suffocating darkness, where she had hovered in a strange state of half-oblivion.

“Ris!” Somebody was calling her.

The girl looked to her left and saw a guard on his knees a few feet away. She quickly recognized him as her associate, whom she knew by the name Hardy. He had been posing as a town guard called Milfred in order to infiltrate the Mayor's estate. It seemed he had been caught as well, and his hands were also shackled. There was a bleeding bruise on his brow, making evident that he didn't submit willingly. “You're alive, thank the Divines.”

Despite his state, the youth still had the heart to worry about Riswelze before himself.

“I don't see much reason for gratitude in that,” the assassin sourly responded, and wrestled herself up into a sitting position. It was barely any more pleasant, but a little more dignified at least. “Just how bad did we screw up?”

“I tried to look for you, but they—”

Suddenly, Hardy silenced himself, as a dark shadow approached them. The gloomy figure of the sorcerer Joviél took over Riswelze's field of vision. There was dark cloth wrapped around his head, to cover the left side of his bloodied face and his noble features were distorted in agony and wrath.

“Who is she?” he asked her.

“What?” Riswelze failed to understand the question, her mind still hazy.

The elf leaned forward, grabbed the girl by the collar and effortlessly lifted her in the air. She had heard the elven bodies possessed strength and resilience greatly superior to that of humans, but the strength displayed now was in no way apparent from the sorcerer's thin appearance. It seemed there was at least one trait the cursed cirelo shared with their high elf relatives.

“The witch,” Joviél coldly clarified. “Do not lie to me. I know she is among your company. You brought her here. Who is she?”

Slowly, Riswelze started to catch up.

Is he talking about Izumi? What happened?

“You're not going to like this,” she said, “but I have no idea.”

“And you would be half correct in that.”

Dropping her back on the ground, the sorcerer turned to the second captive, while pointing his black staff at Riswelze.

“Talk or she dies.”

“I will tell you everything you want to know,” Hardy slowly articulated, “Hel, I'll look for this witch myself. I'll bring her to you and you can do whatever you want with me after. Just promise that you will let Ris go.”

“You are in no position to set conditions,” the dark elf replied.

“I don't know who she is or where she's come from, that much I swear is true. But I know where she is. I gave the woman a sword and told her the princess is in the guardhouse. That's where I saw her go last. The chances are, she's still in there. You can catch her if you hurry! It's not far!”

“Hardy!”

Even if it was to save her life and even if they had long since agreed to prioritize their own comrades above anyone else, Riswelze was shocked by the man’s eagerness to aid the enemy. But it didn't produce the desired results.

“Yes, a guard saw you speak with the woman,” Joviél said, and while his demeanor remained calm, under the surface brewed storm. “You gave her a weapon that you smuggled in and told her where to find the princess. This much is nothing new to me. What I want to know is what she is! What kind of a power does she possess? What am I dealing with!?”

“I...I do not know that,” Hardy reluctantly admitted. “I've never met that woman before in my life. I swear! Looked just human to me! But she must be where the princess is, if only you go there, you will—”

“I already have full control of the area. If you have nothing more to tell me, then you should understand I have no further need for you either. Or perhaps I do?”

The elf turned his remaining eye back at Riswelze.

In turn, the undecorated tip of his staff turned to point at the man.

“Tell me, rat, how high do you value your ally?”

Riswelze made her tone as determined as she could, as she answered,

“Kill him and you will not get another word out of me.”

“Again, not the answer I want. I assure you, pitiful rat, if there is one thing I have learned in my time among your kind, it is that there is nothing easier than making words come out of humans.”

“Wait—”

“Ischvelein.”

As soon as the sorcerer uttered that word, the man facing his staff exploded into a snowy flower, countless thin icicles tracing the outline of his silhouette. As if stilled in time as well as in place, his last gasp, never uttered, was still almost audible on his face. A guard bearing a hammer stepped forward and shattered the newly created, morbid statue with an overhead blow. Countless pieces of red ice scattered all over the lawn.

“You’re a right damn monster,” Riswelze bitterly told the elf, gritting her teeth and turning her face away.

“A monster?” Joviél repeated. “I did not come to ruin this festival of peace uninvited, to murder and thieve for paltry coin. Or do you claim there was some noble, higher purpose in you burning down the house, driving away the townspeople in terror? In gouging out my eye?” The dark elf brought his face closer, his remaining eye burning with hatred not all that different from the fire behind him. “An eye for an eye. Unless that is a fate you wish, then show your worth to me now.”

Before it could come too obvious that Riswelze had no intention of answering, as she braced herself for her grim end, they were interrupted.

Coming from the manor was the Duke himself, with a handful of more knights as his personal guard.

“Joviél!” he raised his voice as he approached the group in the backyard, “will you finally explain to me what in the Emperor's name is going on in here?”

“We have intruders,” the elf turned to answer him.

“I—I can see that!” the Duke responded in dismay. He glanced at Riswelze kneeling on the ground and then struck the girl across the face with the back of his hand. “Does it look like I give a fuck? Why aren't they all dead, deader than dead, tortured, hung, and dead? You should know my wants well enough to take care of them before it gets like this! Why isn't it done? What. Is. Wrong with you? And what happened to your face...?”

“There is an irregularity,” the sorcerer slowly responded. “Until I know what it is, certain caution is required.”

The false Norenbagh wasn't too pleased with the news. His banquet, meant to solidify his influence over the city, had been ruined with an adverse effect. The whole inventory was lost in flames, corpses of dead guards all over his yard, and he couldn't pretend to understand what had actually happened or why. Wiping his tired face with his hands, he looked at the guards standing idly about.

“What are you doing!?” he shrieked at them. “Why isn't everybody searching!? Do you need twenty people and a sorcerer to interrogate one girl? I want bodies! Dead bodies! Do you hear me? Or I'm going to start making some! Just get me somebody who can finally explain to me in plain words what is going on in my house!”

——“If you're fine with me, I might be able to tell you a thing or two.”

Everybody's attention was caught by a voice suddenly calling across the yard.

Striding over the lawn was an adult woman in a green-white dress, with groovy black patterns all over it. No, actually, those patterns were neither produced by a tailor nor black in color. The distance and unique lighting conditions had simply created such an illusion at a distance. In reality, the dress had become stained all over with splatters of blood. As had her face.

But regardless of her unbecoming state, the woman was smiling.

In her hand, she held no purse but a large greatsword, which drew a squiggly line over the lawn as she dragged it behind her.

“Oh, hold on,” the Duke said, recognizing her, “you're that...what was it again. With that braindead general. Ah yes! The Baroness of Letham. That's not who you really are, is it?”

“How clever of you,” the woman responded, stopping for a polite curtsy, lightly lifting her dress. “I am Itaka Izumi, a summoned hero from another world. I'm sorry to tell you this, but I came here to steal away your lovely bride. Because she really is more than you deserve. I'm sorry about your wedding plans, but please give up on them. Also, if you can forgive my greediness, I'd like to take that thief with me as well. I know she can be a mischievous and naughty little cat, but aren't we all the children of our parents? Since she still appears to be in one piece and in a modest state of dress, I am willing to let you live if you give me what I want.”

Having presented her terms, Izumi stabbed the Amygla on the ground in front of her and waited.

There was a pause, with only the crackling and banging coming from the burning building to remind Riswelze that time was continuously passing.

“Ha!” The Duke finally cracked. “Hahahaha! Isn't that great? Isn't that just great? You want my bride? You want this thief? Why not take my trousers, the shoes from my feet as well! Walking around the town with my ass bare would hardly humiliate me any more than you already have. No, no. I'm afraid I have a better idea, milady. You, this saboteur friend of yours, and the princess alike will never see daylight again. Oh, but rest assured, your lives will be quite safe. There's simply no pleasure in destroying corpses. Trust me, I happen to be an expert on this topic. Get her.”

The man gestured at the guards.

Not too alarmed by her weapon, as if tasked to merely retrieve a bucket of water, the two knights that stood the closest to her now approached Izumi.

Indeed, judging by their carefree stride, the guards seemed quite convinced her arms lacked the strength to even lift the massive weapon from the earth it had sank into. They paid it no heed whatsoever. Too many extraordinary things had happened tonight for them to ponder such details. The contrast between the soft woman in her ball dress and the heavy weapon was too striking to offer a natural explanation to the blood covering her. Surely she had only happened near a fight and then picked up the weapon from one of the deceased, in a pointless effort to appear threatening.

Could anyone fault them for arriving in this easy conclusion?

As mistaken as it was.

At the moment the guards lined up to grab the woman by the arms and drag her with them, the Amygla had separated from the lawn and cut tore away their throats in a precise horizontal cut.

“The tailor probably won’t take this dress back anymore,” Izumi remarked, showered in fresh blood.

For a moment, everybody present was absorbed in watching the lifeless guards slowly sink to the ground. It was a strangely captivating sight.

“What are you doing!?” the Duke woke his guards from the daze. “Get a move on, you idiots!”

“I feel like I've seen this somewhere before,” Izumi continued, as larger batch of guards set forward, pointing their spears at her. “This is why I would've preferred a game world. Reality really is too predictable. An AI will always take you seriously and play its best game, no matter what. Real people never will. It doesn't matter how many countless hours you've been training or how many gallons of sweat you've poured. One wrong move, one careless miscalculation, and that’s the end. It can happen anywhere, at any time. There are no checkpoints and no retries. You can't level up to endure deathblows and there's no gear that will cover every weakness. Do you know why games normally don't follow mechanics like that? Because it would just make things too easy for the player.”

The guard at the front raised his lance into an overhead strike as he charged, aiming at the woman's shoulder with the two-sided spearhead. Izumi twisted her upper body to evade the hit in the nick of time, raised her leg and pinned the spear under her heel before the attacker could retract his weapon. The tip of the polearm sank deep into the lawn, stopping the knight's offensive and turning him into a roadblock to those behind him.

Instead of stopping, the group impatiently split up on two sides to get past their clumsy comrade.

Instead of waiting for them to surround her, Izumi picked her right-hand side and dashed forward, cutting down the nearest enemy with an overhead blow before he could orient himself for an attack. The guard managed to raise his spear to defend, but the greatsword sank through the wooden shaft without resistance, tearing through his neck, chestplate and the flesh underneath.

“Gyaaahhh!!”

“All it takes is one little mishap,” Izumi continued, turning a full circle and offhandedly executing the knight whose weapon had become stuck with a wild swing at his neck. “Depending on the rules, games can be pretty unfair too. Take minesweeper, for example. Not that you know what minesweeper is, this is just me thinking aloud. But even if you play an otherwise perfect game, without committing a single mistake, there will eventually come a spot, where you have no choice but to guess to get forward. Because it’s not possible to deduce the contents of all the remaining squares with just the numbers the game gives you.”

She dived under a wild spear swing and thrust the sword through the assailant's abdomen. Then, bending her knees, she quickly shoved the weapon deeper, gutting the guard behind the first one from his blind spot.

“But this isn't a video game. You don't have to guess. Rather, you never should. You can cheat, you can lie, feint, distract, or you just run away. If I know I’ll die fighting fifty, then all I need is to make sure I’ll never have to fight fifty. If I know being underestimated will give me an advantage, then I'll do everything I can to make my enemy underestimate me. Don’t get this wrong, you guys are strong. Probably stronger than an average person in my world. But there’s only so far you can go while self-taught. You don't know about kenjutsu, kendo, taekwondo, jiu-jitsu, aikido, or shambo. You don't know about physics. You don't know about centrifugal force, gravity, or Newton's laws of mechanics. That's all.”

One guard managed to get within grappling distance by abandoning his deflected spear. So close, Izumi had no way of cutting him down with her large weapon. A triumphant look on his face, he was certain he had cornered his enemy. But Izumi drew the blade back close, and stabbed him in the face with the pointy handguard. Incapacitated by the pain, the guard fell to his knees on the lawn. In the next moment, following a Golf-style swing, his head was sent flying.

“I really wanted this to be a game world, you know. Technique on technique, RNG versus RNG, a perfectly equalized system, where everyone's chances are the same. Not for my own sake, because having played a lot of online games would give me an advantage. For your sake. Because as it is, there's no fun in it.”

Another guard fumbled and dropped his weapon, turning to run in terror. Izumi stabbed the Amygla down through the back of the fleeing man's knee. Crying in agony, he fell flat on his stomach, pinned in place. Putting her weight on it, Izumi jumped over the weapon and landed on the guard's neck, followed by a grotesque sound of torn spinal ligaments. Hiding the weapon behind her, she waited until the next charging foe was within striking distance, before pulling the sword out and throwing it forward, impaling him.

The body count kept multiplying at a staggering rate.

Soon enough, nothing was left moving around Izumi.

Wiping sweat and off her brow, Izumi turned to face the remaining group.

“Next please?”

Of the group of around thirty, a dozen was left. Even as light as she had made it seem, Izumi could tell that the limits of her endurance were fast approaching. She moved the way she had learned to move in her youth, but her body was no longer in the shape to support it.

The truth was that she had all but given up on her dream, neglecting herself for many years. The late timing and all the drinking were taking their toll as well. She moved on muscle memory alone, barely aware of what her arms and legs were doing.

What really made Izumi strong wasn't her past training, her will to win, or even the remarkable weapon in her hands.

It was the fact that she had already given up on life.

With nothing to lose, she moved in a way no sane person would, taking absurd risks, trying out reckless moves, out of mere curiosity to see how long it would take for the grim reaper to catch up with her.

The real challenge would begin from here.

The remaining enemies wouldn't underestimate her anymore.

They would smarten up and get more cautious, use what they had seen to their advantage. There was a chance that further reinforcements would join in at any moment. When the guards would begin to co-operate properly, they would be sure to take her down.

But worrying about it was pointless.

How death came was inconsequential.

Everyone had to die one day, and Izumi felt the presence of Death in her every waking moment. But after years of idly waiting for it, sensing its cold breath so distinctly and close by now was refreshing.

Raising the blade, Izumi took a two-handed kendo stance, exhaled, and relaxed her shoulders,

“No takers? Then don't mind if I take another turn—“

“AAAAA!”

“DIVINES HELP ME!”

“A DAEMON! A WITCH! A MONSTER!”

As one of the men lost his fortitude and succumbed to panic, the rest quickly followed with an odd psychological domino effect.

The remaining guards turned tails and fled the yard in terror.

“Eh?” Izumi watched their frantic retreat in confusion. Only the Duke, the sorcerer, and a few guards stalled by their presence remained behind. “What was so scary? Did it hurt?”

“It's the way you keep chanting that gibberish mid-fight!” Riswelze informed her. “That's freaking creepy and gross! Are you pretending to be summoning spirits or what!? Knock it off!! Fight seriously!”

“That's rude, I'm not pretending anything...” Izumi pouted as she resumed her unopposed advance. “I though I was having a pretty insightful monologue there.”

Having lost himself watching the astounding farce, the Duke snapped out his daze by her move.

“Do I have to do everything myself? Oh, but I know how to deal with your kind,” he said, quickly stepping to Riswelze. He pulled the assassin up to her feet and drew a small knife from under his coat, holding it on her neck. “You'll drop the weapon and surrender or I'll bleed her like a pig. I don't need to convince you I'm serious, do I?”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Izumi said, stopping. “Whenever I see this kind of a scene on TV, I can't help but wonder this: if you actually follow through with the threat and kill your one and only hostage, then what do you think will keep you alive after that? Wouldn't I want to make your death twice as slow and painful in revenge?”

“People don't normally look forward to killing and torturing others!” Riswelze retorted in the Duke's stead.

“What in the blazes is wrong with you people?” the Duke said.

At that moment, seeing an opening, Riswelze raised her knee and stabbed her heel in her captor's boot. Groaning, the fake Duke's hold momentarily loosened and the assassin quickly threw her head back, mashing him in the face. Evading his knife, Riswelze dived under his arms and dashed away.

“NO!” At that moment, the black magician, Joviél, threw his staff forward and hollered.

In an instant, an explosion of black mass, like liquid smoke, erupted from his staff, engulfing the entire backyard in an instant. Unable to escape the strange mist, Izumi waited still and held her breath.

It didn't seem like the smoke was corrosive or otherwise harmful. It didn’t sting her eyes, or feel like anything on her skin. She cautiously inhaled a bit, but only smelled the smoke from the burned house.

The effect appeared to be only visual, an elaborate smoke bomb. The buildings had disappeared, as had the flames of the storage house, the guards, the Duke, the mage, Riswelze as well. Izumi could only see a bit under seven feet around herself, everything else was obscured by a complete, impenetrable blackness.

It appeared the spell was akin to a smoke bomb intended to hide whatever killer move the enemy was planning next.

Did it only affect Izumi, or everyone else as well?

No, it was probably safe to assume that the caster himself wasn’t affected.

Keeping her sword raised in front of her, Izumi didn't dare to move but tried to pick up any signs of an incoming attack, or other hints that would betray the position of her enemies. The rustling of grass, the whistling of magical projectiles, words of incantation—anything.

She didn't need to wait for long.

Suddenly, running footsteps approached her straight from the front.

Paranoid if it was a trap and that the real attack would come from her exposed flank, Izumi remained unmoving and waited still, her guard up.

And from the darkness, in her limited circle of light appeared...Riswelze.

Seeing the woman, the assassin stopped, startled, but soon breathed a sigh of relief. Her hands were still cuffed behind her, but she had managed to shake off the Duke, it seemed.

“Everything okay?” Riswelze asked, catching her breath.

“I'm fine, though,” Izumi replied, as she continued to listen. “What happened?”

“I—I don't know,” the girl looked around. “I don't feel that different. What kind of magic is this...? Have you ever heard of anything like this? The scale is—immense.”

“It’s all new to me.”

“That sorcerer is probably aiming at us somewhere out there, even as we speak,” the assassin kept glancing warily around and backed slowly to Izumi. “We’re sitting ducks here, we have to move.”

“You're right. I don't like this kind of tricks at all.”

“The veil can't go on forever,” the assassin moved away from the manor’s direction. “If we can get outside its range, we should be safe.”

“Right.”

“No, wait. This could be our chance,” Riswelze suddenly stopped and said.

“What do you mean?”

“They’ll think we’re at their mercy. We should make use of that.”

“Not a bad idea, but how?”

“I know it’s crazy, but listen. I may have an idea,” the girl said and turned to Izumi. “I need you to work with me here, alright? When I will—”

Swing.

The sound of the guillotine-like blade cut through the dark.

A clean, beautiful overhead blow cleaved into Riswelze's slim, cheetah-like form, right between the neck and the right shoulder, as soon as she entered the greatsword's range. Her leather corset and the body beneath were tough, almost unnaturally so, but not tough enough to withstand the most durable metal in the world.

The cut was deep, certainly fatal.

Of course it would be.

It had been delivered with the intent to kill.

Sinking on her knees, Riswelze looked up at her murderer—at Itaka Izumi—with eyes full of disbelief.

“What would you have done...had it been her...?” she mouthed in a stranger's voice.

“Find comfort in knowing that the next try would go better,” Izumi answered.

The assassin girl's features melted away, giving way to an ageless, vaguely masculine face, hair of fuller black, and pointed ears.

Calling it a gamble would have been too generous.

It had been nothing more but a wild guess. A whim.

The sorcerer had the ability to confuse people's senses, make others see whatever he wanted and hide what he didn’t. Him suddenly gaining the ability to influence Izumi with his magic, in spite of his initial inability to do so was far-fetched as a theory, but possible nevertheless.

Why had he simply stood there the whole time, watching, instead of supporting the guards with spells? Because he didn't know support-type magic, perhaps, and didn't want to risk hitting friendlies?

Or, because he was occupied with analyzing her, preparing magic of an entirely different sort. Perhaps Izumi naming herself as a summoned hero from another world had given the mage the last clue necessary to apply his illusions to her?

Either way, it was a lot of ifs.

Even if it were true, what kept him from doing as he had suggested himself—aiming at Izumi from the cover of the dark with a long-range spell?

Vanity. Izumi had bet everything on that answer.

In the storage building, she had humiliated him.

A mere human had overpowered the great elven magician, who had lived for many centuries, convinced of his superiority. Would he be content with simply shooting a lone woman in the back from a blind spot and calling it a day? Would that have appropriately demonstrated the difference in rank and skill? Doing what any common bandit would do?

Not, right?

It would never be enough.

He had to get up close and personal.

He had to catch her alive, keep her like a trophy.

He would want to outwit her and not fail to rub it in her face for the rest of her painful existence.

But here, like in so many stories, arrogance and greed became his demise.

One human lifetime might not have been enough to catch up with an immortal elf.

But through the simulated realities of cinema and video games, one could experience many different, foreign identities, perspectives and emotions in a condensed form. And Itaka Izumi had lived her earthly life through such experiences. It was on this lonely path of escaping reality, that she had gained insight into the character of beings who weren't real, who could never exist in her own world.

Those experiences had guided her intuition into this cruel decision.

Cut down without hesitation anyone who came within the striking distance——even if that person was the one she wanted to save.

Well, there was one more, separate reason to her confidence in the answer.

Her lack of confidence in herself.

“This is real,” she said, a bit sadly. “There's no way Rise would come running into my arms like the heroine of a romantic comedy, after everything I've done.”

Izumi drew her sword from Joviél's body and the surrounding darkness vanished.

There, before the manor, stood the false Duke and the real Riswelze, the girl still in his hold. Everything starting from her struggle to her escape had been an illusion. It seemed they'd been caught by the spell's effect as well, and looked around in confusion.

Then their eyes fixed at Izumi and the body of the mage lying on the ground.

It was at this sight and the preceding sorcery that the last remaining guards deemed the chance of a comeback victory completely lost. They abandoned their spears and swiftly resigned from the Duke's protection. When a man’s driving motivation was an easy life, he couldn't be expected to lay down that life for his employer.

“That's it then?” Izumi approached the remaining pair.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey now...!” The imposter found himself abandoned and cornered. “Let's talk this through. You want your friends back. I'm increasingly okay with that. Here, I'm letting her go.” He pushed Riswelze away, dropped his knife and backed away, raising his hands in the air. “That's done. You've won. You don't want to dirty your hands with me. I'm not worth the effort, right? I guarantee you safe passage. I own this town and everything around it. Take the princess, take your thieving friend, and go. I'd offer you coin too, but unfortunately, I don't have a dime on me, and I'd really rather not have you hang around for one quarter of a heartbeat longer—FUUH!”

Coming closer, spinning the greatsword like a massive sling, Izumi swung it forward in a rising arc. With frightful velocity, the heavy blade sank into the man's groin, cutting his speech short.

“There. You don't need a wife anymore,” Izumi said, before gripping the sword's long handle wide with both hands and proceeding to pull it up with all her might.

Riswelze thought all the years as an assassin had hardened her to vision of gore. She had thought wrong. Nauseous, she tore her face the other way and had to try her hardest to suppress the contents of her stomach from expelling themselves at the revolting sight and sound. For a while, she sat on her knees, catching her breath. Her ribs still ached from being hit by the sorcerer's blast, but she was alive.

Though tonight's was definitely not among her finest heists.

“Can you stand?” a voice eventually asked her. She looked up and saw Izumi standing before her. “I found a key to your handcuffs.”

Instead of getting up, the girl let out a wry laugh and looked down.

“I'm scared shitless, to be honest,” she said.

“Eh? What?” Izumi asked.

“You really need to ask? You. Take a look around? Do you think anybody could've done this and still pass for a human being? Who are you, really?”

“Really?” Izumi frowned, dejected. “I kinda figured you might not be jumping in joy over it, but being told I’m a monster so upfront is still pretty heartbreaking. I'd like to think that I did what I did for the good of my friends. Was it wrong then?”

“You...” Riswelze struggled up to her feet. “Are you telling me you did this for my sake? This...How am I supposed to take that? You came here for that princess, didn't you? Why didn't you just grab her and run away? Why did you come back for me? Why did you go this far just to save somebody like me? I don't get it! I don't understand you! What's the matter with you?”

Izumi looked troubled.

“Eeh, what do you want me to say?” She awkwardly scratched her neck. “Isn’t this what heroes do? Wouldn't it have been worse to leave you behind?”

“Heroes? Nobody thinks they want to be heroes! I mean, not this way! Look at yourself! You could've died a dozen times over or worse! I already owed you for trying to kill you, and now I owe you my life too!? How am I ever supposed to pay that back!? What do you want from me? Make me your slave, your girl toy? Put a leash around my neck and have me act as your furniture? Give me a break! I’m not going to spend the rest of my life kissing your boots!”

“Well, so far as I'm considered, you don't owe me anything special. I just didn’t want you to die, that’s all. You can carry on with your life and forget this ever happened if you want to. Although...”

“What?”

Izumi hugged her sword and squirmed uncomfortably.

“...I'm suddenly feeling really hot and bothered when you talk dirty and yell at me like that. Could it be, I’ve awakened to a new fetish I never asked for? What should I do?”

“Ha...?” Riswelze blushed and staggered back. “You...have you been drinking?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Izumi complained. “I'm already an adult, I'm allowed to have a drink or two! Besides, I'm immune to alcohol, you know! I did attend a mixer once, just once, but nothing came out of it when I was the last one left standing and nobody invited me again! But that should prove I have a high tolerance, if nothing more.”

“Oh, bloody Hel...” Riswelze sighed and shrugged.

Like a cat, she then jumped up, drew her knees up and twisted her cuffed hands to the front from under her heels. “Come on. Open these for me.”

Izumi opened the handcuffs and the girl rubbed her aching, scraped wrists, looking over the bloodied woman from head to toe.

“All right,” she finally said. “I'll be your slave.”

“Eeeeehhh?” Izumi's jaw fell as she blushed.

“D-don't get any weird ideas, you twisted woman! I'm not going to lick your boots or anything extreme, but until I've paid back my debt—until I've saved you from death exactly twice, I will stick with you. You'd better not have a problem with that.”

“I did plan to invite you to the party anyway, so I don't mind, but are you sure? More stuff like this might happen again. Or even something worse.”

“Then you need me,” Riswelze replied.

“I might end up saving you a third, or a fourth time too,” Izumi said.

“Then I will have to owe you some more.”

“What if I mess up and you die? Aren't you scared?”

“Of course I am. But everyone dies one day. That’s life.”

“You...you have barf on your chin.”

Riswelze patiently closed her eyes and sighed.

“You have blood and parts of something I don't even want to try to identify all over you, so I'm not going to be embarrassed.”

Izumi wiped the girl's face with her hand.

“You have...something on your lips too,” she said, leaning closer.

“I—I thought I said I'm not going to be that kind of a slave...”

“Service! It's fanservice!”

“You're terrible when you're drunk, Izumi.”

Riswelze complained but wouldn't move away.

All Izumi could think about was that this was her third chance to have her first kiss tonight and she wasn't going to let it go. Gently holding Riswelze's face, Izumi let gravity pull her forward. She couldn’t help it, she was intoxicated and tired and felt weak. So she convinced herself.

But right as their noses were about to align, a sudden, odd sound made her stop and look away. The sound of metal being dragged over stone.

Breaking away from the girl, Izumi reached for her sword and turned.

Further away, using his black staff for support, the cirelo Joviél dragged himself to his feet.

“Tonight may be your victory, human,” he forced himself to speak. “But do not think this is the end.”

“Elves sure don't die easy, do they?” Izumi remarked.

“You have no idea,” the sorcerer spat blood. “When my mother was found in the reclaimed ruins of Idonya, she was still alive. A month after we lost her. Without arms or legs. Without tongue, but alive...Fury. Fury alone drives my people now. It keeps us alive.”

“You do have my sympathies, but none of that is our fault, is it?”

“I want your pathetic mind to comprehend this. Understand the gravity of what you have so foolishly done here. Each piece you undermine in the Emperor's plan is a piece in favor of chaos. Do you think this little blot of land you name as your country will remain forever safe from the evil that destroyed ours? That so long as the monsters kindly remain beyond the sea, you will have all the time in the world? Fool. Their hunger...it never stops. Tonight, you have made three kingdoms your enemies. And for what? For the virtue of a wench who betrayed her people! For a rat that murders for pennies!”

“Yule didn't betray anyone,” Izumi said. “She left her home to save the world and make her family proud. I think that's a goal more beautiful than whatever your Emperor is cooking.”

“Save the world? The Trophaeum? Ha...” the elf dryly chuckled. It was astonishing he could even speak or stand with his wound. “Did you even know this—the Tower of the Convenant stands on daemon territory now. The girl will never make it, that foolish child. Nowhere close. A worm weak even among maggots!”

“Well,” Izumi shrugged. “maybe somebody will have to take her then.”

“Who would? You will not live to see the passing of summer. You have brought upon yourself my wrath. And my wrath is the wrath of the Circle of Pale Ashes.”

With effort, the sorcerer raised his staff. A portal of shadows appeared beside him. Where was it connected, only he would know.

The distance was too great.

There was no way for Izumi to reach him before he would slip through. And after escaping, he would enlist the aid of whatever group he worked for, to kill the summoned champion.

Riswelze reached for her daggers, only to recall they had all been taken from her.

With a malicious smile, Joviél gave them one last arrogant look, and turned to leave through the portal.

“——?”

But before he could do that, the portal vanished, as if evaporated.

Had his magical run out before its time?

No, that wasn't the case. The actual cause became apparent in the next moment.

From behind the dark doorway, a being radiating pure light appeared in front of the magician.

“Aesa...Davelu alaisa...?” the sorcerer gasped, recognizing that form, described in legends by far older than him.

“Greetings, cirelo,” Aiwesh, the Lord of Light said, a gentle smile on her lips. “You wished to meet me?”

“W-what...?”

“I believe words such as, 'challenge', and so forth were uttered in my presence. Amusing, is it not? You think the feeble sentiment you call fury will bring you to the level of a Divine Lord now? I do not hate confident young men. Well, here I am. How about it? Would you like to test me?”

“I have no quarrel with thee, Lord!” the dark elf shouted.

“Oh, but I have a quarrel with you, boy. Here I thought I would do your Emperor service and allow my vessel to be employed in his plot, for the noble goals you mentioned. And what does his ignorant servant do in his madness? He would have these unworthy beasts defile my chosen chalice? Of course, I would not make the mistake of ever trusting a mortal, but it seems the honor of the Aldervolk is not what it used to be either.”

“I...I had no idea! I would not have allowed it, had I known she was thy vessel! W-why did thou hide thy presence from me—”

“'Why?' And now I, the Lord of Light, must explain myself to one who fell from grace? Should you not blame your own blindness instead, Joviél of Elevro?”

“I...”

“Ahaha, I jest, I jest!” Aiwesh suddenly said, clasping her hands together, and laughed brightly. “I was well aware of how this was going to end already before the first piece was in place. No, this was, above all, a test for my chosen champion! A test, which she somehow managed to pass without assistance, albeit not without difficulty. For playing your part in the experiment so admirably, you have my gratitude!”

For a moment, something resembling relief flashed over the dark elf's countenance.

“Oh, but that does not mean I am not angry,” Aiwesh added.

The godly being shot out her slender arm and stuck it without mercy in the gaping wound on the sorcerer’s body.

“Rest well. I will be taking your power now.”

Under the Divine's magic, the dark elf's body slowly disintegrated into tiny particles. He didn't seem to be in pain. His expression was only surprised, as he little by little broke to ashes, the lighter than air leftover fragments blown away by the gentle wind sweeping over the Haywell hill.

Finished, Aiwesh flexed her fingers and turned to Izumi and Riswelze.

“Well then, children, shall we go? It seems the festival has ended.”

“That's...that's...?” the assassin stuttered, astonished.

“Ai-chan,” Izumi said.

“You have potential, Izumi dearest,” Aiwesh said, “but I expect slightly smoother operating the next time. Really, you should not make a fine lady wait for so long. I was beginning to wonder if you were indeed coming at all. Do take notes and keep this in mind the next time, and I might just raise my evaluation of you.”

“You act like it went just as planned,” Izumi replied, too intoxicated to take the hint, “but isn't the truth that you were totally trapped and panicking back there?”

“Hm? Did you say something, sweetie? How strange, we seem to be having some communication trouble! Could there have been a fault in the summoning process? Perhaps I should get rid of this botched champion and roll for a new one right away...?”

“Let's leave it at that then...”

The Mayor of Grelden was dead, with no chance of a second revival. Over half of his personal guard shared his fate, found lifeless around his estate, bearing horrible wounds, and the rest dispersed, who could say where.

In this unexpected fashion, the banquet was brought to a conclusion.

Indeed, the night was remembered. It would be recalled in the small town of Grelden for many generations to come. As a matter of fact, “duke's banquet” would live on locally as an expression meaning the sudden, total ruination of expected good time.

But it was not the end of the princess of Langoria, who was not seen in Grelden after that night, and whose shocking appearance in the banquet was later dismissed only as a wild fantasy by inebriated minds. This scandalous incident meant also neither the beginning nor the ending point in the legend of the summoned champion from another world.

That legend was forged elsewhere, another time.