1

A new morning. Sun shone brightly in the blue sky between the spires of Selenoreion, and the high-pitched cries of swallows could be heard overhead, as they swooped over the terrace in their ceaseless hunt for sustenance.

Once again, breakfast service had been prepared for two in the north-western garden. Like yesterday, the Emperor of Tratovia had requested Yuliana to keep him company. Wondering if it was going to become a daily event, the princess took her seat at the end of the lengthy table opposite of his majesty, while one of the maids poured her a cup of red tea.

Today, Yuliana felt like a different person from yesterday. Izumi was safe; one major source of concern had been removed. The effect on her confidence was tremendous.

That was one less way for the Emperor to extort the princess. Yesterday, his majesty had taken the lead in the conversation, catching Yuliana off-guard with his unexpected approach, but she had recovered and gathered her courage since then.

From here, she would begin her counterattack.

There would be no war. No concessions. No plots, schemes, blackmail, or deception. Henceforth, only reason would speak, for the common good. She wouldn’t give in, even if her opponent was the most influential man on the continent.

One way or the other, she would make him see wisdom.

“Did you sleep well, your highness?” the Emperor asked in a light tone, sipping his tea. He appeared to be in a good mood too, his shoulders relaxed, resting his back on the support of the sturdy antique chair.

“I did, thank you,” Yuliana answered.

“Good. While you are something of a prisoner of mine, in a sense, it is not my desire to make you feel as one. If there is anything you wish for, to make your time pass easier, I will arrange for it. So long as it is within my power, of course. I only ask that you do not overestimate this power, for my judges are many and ever present.”

“I understand, and I try not to ask for much,” she answered. “Only that you do not ask any more of me in return.”

“An excellent answer,” he nodded. “It appears you are as the stories I have heard of you describe: ‘blessed with beauty, matched only by her wit.’”

“I did not expect such flattery from you, your majesty,” Yuliana replied, without a smile.

“Oh, I would flatter you a thousand times more,” the Emperor replied, “but my regrettable duty is to demand better of us both. I would like to hear your answer to the request I presented to you in this very place yesterday, princess Yuliana Da Via Brannan. Will you negotiate with your father at my behest? Will you acquire for me access to the southern harbors of your land and the King’s consent to use them? Will you help spare us all of the bloodiest war this land has seen in ages?”

Yuliana straightened her posture and forced herself to look back into the Emperor’s light gray eyes, before giving her decided response,

“I cannot.”

To that, the Emperor said nothing. Like a still image he remained, not even blinking.

Yuliana took this silence as a chance to explain her reasoning,

“What you ask of me is simply not possible. As I have told you, my father does not value my opinions, he never has, and will not listen to anything I say. You do not know him as I do. A princess I may be in title, but I hold as much political power in the court of my fatherland as any plain handmaid would. I cannot promise to you that which is beyond me, no matter what is at stake. Your involvement in the matter will only make him refuse me with doubled ferocity. Personally, I must also express my discontent with your plan. We cannot hope to conquer the lost continent with military force. Our enemy is far beyond our caliber, I have been show as much. Elves could not do it, not cruleans, ptoleans, derians, not even dragons, and they all outrank us. And we do not have such time either. No, I believe there are better ways. Before numbers, we ought to favor speed on our quest. We could assemble a small, specialized force, which will be able to travel across the continent, along the shortest route possible, directly to the Trophaeum, to seize it on the promised day. That is our only option, I believe, a focused effort. I am prepared to join this quest myself, be it under the Imperial banner or anyone else’s. There is no need for war, and no—”

—“Tomorrow...”

The princess fell silent mid-sentence, seeing the Emperor rub the bridge of his nose with a tired frown, no longer even listening.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, “at daybreak, Colonel Miragrave Estheria Marafel will be executed.”

“What——?”

All the heated activity in Yuliana’s head came to a sudden stop.

For a moment, all she heard was her own pulse, and the humming of blood in her ears.

“For the crime of conspiring against the Imperial Throne,” the Emperor continued, “the Colonel is to burn at the stake until death. So has been decided.”

Color returning to her face, Yuliana bounced up, slamming her palms at the table,

“Why are you threatening me!?” she shouted at him. “What do you hope to gain by doing this? I’ve told you, what’s impossible is impossible!”

“Do not misunderstand me, your highness,” the man calmly explained. “I am not the judge nor the jury in this land, far from the executioner. The Board of Generals wants the Colonel gone, and she has given them an excuse too good to pass up on, that is all. I cannot arbitrarily overrule the verdict, lest I make her enemies my enemies also. Not unless I have something to appease them with. Something of such tremendous importance that it will make one soldier's pardon seem a mere trifle on the side. Such as an armistice and the right of passage to Langoria.”

“That’s not—”

“I do not ask for the impossible. I ask that you try.”

“With all due respect—”

“Life is an endless series of trades, your highness,” he sternly continued over Yuliana’s frail opposition. “Whether you are a peasant or a king, all that changes is the value of transactions. At our level, cities and kingdoms are our currency. Human lives are saved and lost upon each choice we make. It is inescapable. Where will you win, where will you lose, who will you save, who will you kill...It is a merciless earth we tread, for at all turns it calls for blood to nourish it. The option to share happiness with everyone equally simply does not exist for us. For despite our noble heritage, we remain only human. The more you struggle against this grim truth with heavy-handed idealism, the more painful the cost you must pay at the end of the day. Do I want to see my servant and faithful subject die in a fire? I do not. Do I want to go to war with Langoria and her people? I do not. But I am not a God, your highness. Nor is my will the will of my people in the literal sense. I want to save the world but my generals cannot be content with merely a beautiful dream. If there is to be life on Ortho after the Night of the Covenant, then I must be the one to tell my citizens how that life will continue thereon. Even if you and I go to selflessly sacrifice ourselves in the land of daemons for the common good of our peoples, there is no value in our efforts to those who know nothing of such things.”

“I...”

“For the Empire of Tratovia, the future is in Langoria. It is in Luctretz, in Cotlann, in Melgier, in Alderia. In continued expansion and the prosperity gained through it. Unless a man has coin to give, he will not be given bread in exchange. Unless I give my people progress and wealth, they will not give me even a plate to eat my bread on, let alone a chance to save their lives. No, they will take everything I am, all that I have, wipe away what I represent from the pages of history. There, your highness, are our judges, jury, and our all too willing executioners too. Right outside those tall yet painfully ephemeral walls.”

The Emperor waved his hand in the city’s general direction, then wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood,

“I am disappointed by your answer, your highness. You insist your father to be adamant as bedrock, yet expect my heart to yield like a strand of weed instead. I’d heard you were more than your looks, yet I see now that you continue to remain a dreamer, a child, even as the curtain is pulled on our world.”

Without saying any more, the man strode out of the garden, his servants hurrying after him. Left seated by herself, stupefied, Yuliana looked over the cityscape in the west, unable to see the buildings through her tears.

2

Time passed, the sun swiftly rose, and as Izumi felt more bored than unwell, she got dressed and strolled around the keep to pass time. There were obviously only a few places where she could go, to avoid being seen by palace servants or guards not under Carmelia’s service, and so she eventually took shelter in the secluded library hall again.

There, Izumi once again encountered the other sheltered transmigrator, Benjamin Watts, absorbed in reading, as appeared to be his usual habit. Izumi could only envy his seemingly boundless patience and thirst for knowledge.

“Oh!” the young man greeted her with a surprised look. “You’re alive! Good morning, Izumi, my friend! Boy, am I glad to see you up and about! I was already certain last night was going to be the last I’d ever see of you. The look on Carmelia’s face—I thought my heart was going to stop. Um, are you quite sure you should be walking about yet?”

“I’m fine,” Izumi said. “At least, until whatever the doc's cooking up next is done.”

“Ahaha, don’t worry, the lady knows what she’s doing,” he laughed. “Most of the time, anyway. A few prisoners got one heck of a diarrhea last month after her potion experiments, but nothing worse than that. At least she’s not boiling children alive in that pot of hers. I reckon that wouldn’t make her very popular at the court...A ‘fallen’ elf or not, they do value people’s lives. Or, well, lives in general. Not strictly people’s...You get what I’m saying. But, is it just me, or do you look different today? Refreshed, somehow? Very...very nice.”

“What’s that you’re reading there?” Izumi ignored his gawking and looked at the ominous, black-covered notebook on the young man’s hands.

“Oh, this? It’s a study. On daemons.” Benjamin lifted the book and showed Izumi the spread he had been at. On the left-hand page, a charcoal illustration had been drawn, of a rather disturbing creature. “Do they really look like this? The portrait was supposedly drawn by a witness, but I wouldn't know.”

“More or less,” Izumi said, looking away.

“Silen devehra...You are the first human to have fought a daemon and lived, and now you’re also the first human to have survived being infected by the Touch of Death. You truly are a pioneer, eh!”

“I wouldn’t have minded letting someone else have the honor, though. Not a very pleasant experience.”

“Pleasant or not, acquiring knowledge is always a thing to rejoice for,” the man told her. “Have a look at this book. After the Empire started collaborating with the Ledarnian colony, we also gained access to the information the cirelo have compiled over the centuries. Their accounts and observations, records of a forgotten war hardly anyone alive on Noertia has even heard of. Only a handful of people in the world know what we know, Izumi. And knowledge is power.”

“What do we know, really?” Izumi asked.

“A great deal,” Benjamin leafed through the pages. “Listen to this. In the beginning, it was assumed that daemons were like insects. You know, ants or bees or such. The elves speculated that they built nests, great underground hives, where there were queens, workers, warriors, and so forth. Numerous dangerous missions were carried out deep into the remote, most hostile corners of the lost continent, to locate those hives and eliminate them, and the queens therein. They thought that would end the war. So what did they find? What do you think?”

The youth looked up at Izumi through his thick-rimmed glasses.

“I take it they found no success, at least,” she answered.

“Nothing,” he answered. “They found absolutely nothing. Daemons don’t build homes or nests. They don’t settle anywhere, they’re nomadic. There are no castes or classes or other specializations among them. Each individual looks indistinguishable from the others in their natural state. Like mere copies. There are no distinct males or females, no elderly, no offsprings either. They have no nests, they don’t lay eggs, they don't pollinate. So how exactly do they reproduce? They were rare at the beginning of the current cycle, and those few that were seen tended to avoid contact, displaying no open hostility. And then, there were suddenly hundreds everywhere, thousands, enough to uproot the entire elven civilization. The question everyone’s been asking for eight long centuries since—how did this happen and why? Do they just pop out of thin air, like goti? Are they born from the earth, shaped out of clay? Well, even today, no one really knows for sure. As you can imagine, observing those creatures, even from a distance, is incredibly dangerous. Elves have good eyesight, but...It’s like those things have a sixth sense instead. They know when someone’s looking, and they’re too darned smart. But there’s a theory. Many theories, actually, but I strongly feel this could be the answer to the big question. The way Carmelia dodges the topic makes me think I might be onto something.”

“What is it then?” Izumi tilted her head.

“Silen devehra,” Benjamin pronounced after a theatrical pause. “Everyone assumed that daemons were biological organisms, but perhaps the whole premise was mistaken from the get-go? Perhaps they were never simple corporeal beings but spiritual beings? And there’s the answer to how they multiply. Touch of Death corrupts the very soul of any person wounded by a daemon, but what happens to the victim? Perhaps they don’t simply die of the ailment? No. They definitely do die...and are then reborn. As one of them.”

Izumi said nothing. She shuddered. She couldn’t be sure if it was the theory that repulsed her, or the enthusiastic gleam in Benjamin’s eyes as he presented his terrible thesis. As if it were something wonderful and uplifting.

“A war where the casualties join the enemy,” the youth went on. “Daemons don’t simply take lives, they rob their victims of their very identity. It’s the vilest, most despicable creature you can imagine, as if created out of pure spite towards life itself. Everything they touch, they turn into evil, deadly mockery of itself. And yet, there’s also certain beauty to them.”

“Beauty?” she repeated, raising a brow.

“Daemons have no language of their own,” Benjamin explained, “or other obvious means of communication, yet no in-fighting has ever been observed among them. They co-exist in harmony, hunt in perfect unison. As if they were indeed one. It’s been speculated that they have a sort of a collective consciousness, which allows one entity to share the knowledge and abilities of the rest. Everything they learn, about us, about the world, gets instantaneously shared with the whole community. They don’t need words, as they can tell what the others are thinking via telepathy. In such a system, words would only be a hindrance.”

“If that’s true, this game’s totally broken,” Izumi shook her head. “How are we ever supposed to beat such things? Even if you could come up with a technique that kills one of them, the next one will then know how to avoid it. And that’s not even the start of it.”

“Yes,” Benjamin nodded. “They seem almost too perfect to be real. How could one race exert such superiority over the others, despite their apparent novelty on the pages of natural history? Now that is an excellent question. You know, maybe there’s a reason for that as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, listen very close,” the young man brought his voice down. “This is kind of a controversial theory and it could get me hanged as a heretic or worse, if the word were to spread. But, I personally believe that—”

—Ka-dong!

At that moment, the library doors were abruptly opened with a resounding noise, and Benjamin stopped whatever he was about to say.

Carmelia’s dark-clad figure entered the hall. She wasn’t a particularly expressive person by nature, but over the course of the past few days, Izumi had learned to read the subtle changes in her demeanor. Although, in this case, the sorceress’s darkened look was not particularly difficult to interpret. Indeed, the Court Wizard shortly fixed her grim gaze at Izumi, confirming her suspicions.

“I have bad news.”

3

In the familiar apartment complex along Donethal’s avenue, the silence of a certain Imperial Colonel’s study was interrupted by a knock on the door. Shortly after, an aged female servant timidly entered, a silvery tray in her hands.

“Madam. I have brought your breakfast...” she announced in a wavering voice.

The maid, hired on the very day the young mistress had moved in, was part startled, part relieved to find her employer awake and upright. The resident’s past days' rapid decline in morale—and the consumption rate of alcoholic beverages—had been deeply disconcerting, and the maid feared she would soon find herself unemployed.

Serving a persona non grata looked bad enough on the resume already, a dead mistress would be worse. It would not be easy to find a new occupation—not when old age was becoming a demerit too.

However, the relief brought by the mistress's improved state and form was short-lived. For some reason, the Colonel was dressed in her old uniform, as if about to head out to work. The news of her dishonorable discharge had spread fast, and this otherwise mundane scene now bore disturbing implications. Most likely, a tragic episode of drunken stupor.

However, the impression was somewhat mistaken.

“Thank you, Madeleine,” Miragrave Marfel told the maid in a sober tone, with not much emotion in it, not turning away from the window she was facing as she pulled on her riding gloves. “But I won’t need it.”

“Madam...?”

“Thank you, for these years you’ve served me,” the Colonel continued. “I'd reward you with something suitable for the occasion, but I believe you have already appropriated everything you've deemed to be of value in my house. The things you thought I wouldn't miss, anyway. Don't take it the wrong way. If there was indeed anything I missed, I would have asked to have it back.”

“W-why, milady...?” the maid, Madeleine, was getting increasingly anxious. “Why do you speak as though you are dismissing me...? H-have I upset you, by chance? W-was it the spoons? Or the brandy your honorable father sent you? You were away at the time, and not expected to return for some months, I—I did not wish for it to fall into wrong hands...”

“Rest easy,” Miragrave shook her head. “It is not my own wish to dismiss you, as much as it is a practical necessity. For when I step outside this house next, I do so without expecting to ever return, and you will no longer have a master.”

“But...W-where do you mean to go, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I cannot answer you. For I do not know it myself. Where do we go, Madeleine? Where do we humans go? Where do emiri? Where does anyone? To another world? To another future? Or nowhere at all?”

Miragrave said no more, turned, and crouched to pick up her sword from the floor. Fastening it to her belt, she strode past the maid, out into the corridor, and down the stairs.

“Divines help me...” Madeleine lamented and took the tray back to the kitchen.

For someone who was practically born a soldier, simply walking down the stairs and leaving her apartment after being ordered into confinement was nothing short of an act of rebellion.

That's right—Miragrave thought not of escape.

This was her personal rebellion. A protest.

There was a clear distinction there, at least in her own mind. Even now, as made evident by the uniform she bore without shame, she considered herself as acting in the best interests of her fatherland. Not for her own safety or benefit, but because she felt this was the best way to further the Empire's interests, and the greater good of the general public.

Sometimes orders had to be defied for the sake of justice.

Never before had such a situation occurred to her, but now was the time, if ever.

Inactivity wouldn’t help anyone. If there was anything she could do to restore the honor of the Empire she believed in, it was by using the time she had left by working for it.

Miragrave estimated her chances of achieving anything worthwhile as meager at best. Surely no one would follow her example. She was in this alone—and that was fine. It was not so much about the results as it was about effort. Principles. Making a point. Rather than quietly withering away, she was going to die standing up, for her country.

That was the only way she could allow herself to go out, as a soldier.

Since Miragrave felt no hope, neither could she feel disappointment in the loss of it—or so she had thought.

Nevertheless, at the moment she opened the front door and stepped outside into the narrow front yard, her already severe countenance turned a degree darker still.

Having to deal with the two guards posted at the entrance was already something she had expected with a heavy heart, but the reality awaiting her proved far worse.

Worse than anyone could have foreseen.

In the middle of the yard, accompanied by two more guards, was a strange-looking man in a black leather armor, apparently on his way in. In the grip of his right hand, the man carried a long, slim spear much different from the guards’ elaborate halberds. His helmet-less head was adorned with deep blue pearls attached to strands of his dark hair, as well as a single, great feather of a foreign bird called Zuú.

Anyone with wanting courage would have struggled to keep their composure before the man’s sharp gaze. At the mention of his name, the remains of said composure would no doubt be decisively obliterated.

The name was Shivgried—and the man the one whom they also called, the Impaler.

Before gaining the sinister moniker and being promoted to the Guild of Tratovia’s Heroes, he had been called Zaxon Shivgried, an officer of the Imperial Foreign Legion, hailing from the remote province of Tulfakar. He had advanced as far as the special forces due to his natural excellence in combat. During the brief campaign against Dharva in the north, he had acquired the cursed spear Lanhglid, said to pierce through any defense, and it became the source of his gross title.

That legend had taken a heavy blow some days ago.

Lanhglid’s spell had been repelled by the Langorian greatsword.

Fortunately, the witnesses of this marvel were few—and Shivgried was determined to keep it so.

The man recovered from his brief surprise, caused by Miragrave's appearance in the doorway. His lips soon contorted into a twisted grin, as he presumed to have seen through her intentions, and he spread his arms wide, as if to warmly receive her.

“My, leaving so soon?”

It was only now that the two guards at the door realized the prisoner had stepped out, and they looked like two hares caught between a forest fire and a dragon.

“Zaxon,” Miragrave received the warrior with a glare. “They say you are a man with the talent to always be in the right place at the right time. I feel I have to disagree.”

“I imagine that you would,” he replied. “But fault me not for my luck. Is a man to be blamed for the destiny that moves him? As much as I enjoy the sight of you, Marafel, I am not here of my own volition today, but merely as the humble instrument of his majesty's will. A duty not entirely displeasing, for once.”

“So the time has come.” The Colonel stepped down the stairs from the door. “His majesty has decided to claim my head.”

Shivgried took a step forward as well.

“It has,” he said. “'Death to the enemies of the Empire'. How many have fallen for those words? How many gallons of blood has been spilled, how far and wide? And how much of it in vain, only to satisfy the greed of pompous old men in their glum halls of stone? For all its worth, I would prefer to see your head where it belongs.”

“What is it worth, Zaxon?” Miragrave snorted. “What is a man worth, when he hides his lust in the shadow of a tyrant? Is he sustained by the honor and duty that belong to a soldier? No, you have no such redeeming qualities. You traded them all away for ‘glory’, power, for recognition, for personal gain. How vain. Before the hero you saw yourself as, you were reduced to a mere murderer-for-hire. Enough. I’ve made my peace. Take me away.”

At her words, the warrior burst into cold laughter.

“Hahaha! You never change, Marafel!” he said. “I sold my honor? And where would I be, if I hadn’t? I could be in your shoes, discredited and forsaken. Thrown away, like a used-up arbalest! No. Certainly, to the people of the Empire, I am a hero! Rather than upholding the law, I have become the law itself! Could you have ever imagined our roles traded in such a way? What has your knight’s honor ever brought you, foolish woman? Look at you. You insist to remain a patriot to the bitter end, a soldier to a lord you despise. Your idea of fighting back is distilled to a powerless look of disapproval as you step up to the block of your own will. Wake up. Your noble conviction changes no hearts in this corrupt land.”

“Do you dream of becoming a politician or why do you speak like one?” she retorted and stopped. “My power is inadequate to change the world, yes. But neither will the world change my mind. That is enough for me. At least I am conscious of facts, and devoid of empty visions of grandeur. Unlike some others I know.”

Not saying anything, Shivgried proceeded to walk around the woman, rubbing his jaw in contemplation.

“Do not be that way, Marafel,” he said. “You should not be like this. Being a fatalist ill suits a woman of your brilliance. Bending your fair neck before justice you know is immoral and biased, simply out of aimless sense of duty...You are capable of much more than this.”

“What do you want, Zaxon?” the Colonel's gaze sharpened. “I do not walk this path only to meet whatever dreams you have of me.”

“I am telling you, you're not ambitious enough. Never were.” Leaning closer, Shivgried whispered to her, “So let me become your savior now, sister-in-arms.”

The sideways glare she returned him made the man pull away.

“I have the power,” he resumed out loud, filled with confidence. “I am one of the Guild now. Not a simple dog of war, but a Champion of the Throne. No, more than that. I can peel you even from his majesty's unforgiving grip. Verily, it may well be that his majesty will be our majesty for not much longer. There are elements out there that strongly feel so.”

The soldiers nearby shifted uncomfortably at his treacherous words. Shivgried disregarded them, his eyes only at Miragrave, as he continued,

“I dare say our interests align on this matter. Or am I mistaken?”

“I suspect you do not offer me a helping hand out of the kindness of your heart?” she asked.

“But I do;” Shivgried answered with a shrug. “There could be no other reason. A hand I am indeed offering you, to be taken and held, and never let go. Become my woman, Marafel. It is quite as simple as that.”

“Is this your idea of comedy?” she asked.

“Far from it. For you alone, my spear would impale even the Obsidian Throne. You will be a shunned traitor no more, not a mere soldier, a grunt, a lowly servant, or anything boorish and humiliating like that. Nay, you shall be the queen you were destined to be, of the new empire that will rise from the ashes of the old.”

“I refuse,” Miragrave gave her immediate answer and stepped past him.

“You would rather let Raleigh have you then!?” Shivgried shouted after her, a sudden fit of anger amplifying his voice. “You will burn, in disgrace, before the eyes of the people you swore to protect, of your faithful soldiers, as they sneer at you, and that will be the last memory they’ll have of you! Not how honorable and gallant you were in life, but only your helpless screams of agony as your flesh boils and skin is peeled! That will be all that history remembers of Miragrave Marafel! Think your father will endure it? I’ll be sure to describe it to him afterwards, in great detail. How the daughter that made him so proud once threw away her sanity and dignity out of terror, and begged in tears for mercy in her final moments! Think his heart can take it?”

Slowly, Miragrave turned around.

Her face was pale but her gaze unbending, like tempered steel.

“For years, I awaited my death, Zaxon,” she said. “I counted the days, the very hours, until living itself became agony. And finally, it did come for me. I faced my end on the field outside Varnam—and it took me not. You think whatever generic horrors you can come up with compare with the abyss I’ve stared into? No, I greet your lukewarm flames with the fondness of an old friend.”

Saying no more, the Colonel stepped on, to be escorted away by the guards. Shivgried spat, gave the cowering guards at the house entrance a misguided glare, and then followed after the convict.

4

As soon as she was alone and back in her lofty tower quarters, princess Yuliana took out the silvery chain she had been given by the mysterious visitor yesterday, and wrapped it around her left wrist. Closing her eyes, she did her best to gather her rattled focus. The princess had beheld a few enchanted items of similar effects before, although none of them had seemed quite as refined as this one.

“Can you hear me?” Deeming her concentration sufficient and the channel opened, she voiced a question. And, soon enough, another person’s surprised voice sounded in her mind, similarly to Aiwesh’s sparse spiritual communications.

The voice clearly belonged to the young man Yuliana had met before, confirmed by an accompanying, vague sense of presence, as though they had suddenly been brought to the same room.

“Oh, your highness? What’s wrong?” Benjamin’s voice asked.

Maintaining her composure with effort, Yuliana quickly summarized the crux of the matter,

“My master—Colonel Marafel, I’ve heard she’s about to be executed tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes, we’re aware of the situation,” the young man responded in a regretful tone. “It seems the paperwork was put underway as soon as the news of her return reached the headquarters. A law on war time exceptions was enacted to bypass the trial and she was sentenced early this morning by a majority vote...”

—“We have to do something to help her!” Yuliana impatiently interrupted him.

“We? We who?” his voice helplessly retorted. “Not a whole lot can be done, I’m afraid! With a person of Marafel’s rank and the questionable nature of the verdict, the security levels at the execution site will be exceptionally high. In fact, even the location hasn’t been disclosed in public yet. The Colonel was quite popular with her troops, the officers fear her execution might inspire open unrest, even a mutiny among the knights, so they’ve taken measures to prepare. We’d need an army to mount a rescue attempt, and even then, it would be difficult to extract the Colonel alive. And only the Emperor himself has the authority to overturn the verdict by legal means...”

“So you’re telling me we’re going to have to let her die!?” the princess lost her self-restraint and yelled. “I can’t! There’s got to be a way!”

“Even if you say that...” Benjamin thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Have you tried to appeal to his majesty?”

“Appeal...?”

“Yes. He really is our best bet at the moment, as far as I can see. At the very least, he can delay the execution and buy us more time until we can come up with a proper plan. I can really think of nothing else right now.”

“The Emperor...” Yuliana muttered, not very pleased by the idea.

“Do you think there is any way you could negotiate with him?” Benjamin suggested. “Perhaps there are some compromises you could make to bring him to our side? What does he want? What does he fear? I don’t know, I’m just throwing ideas. Whatever it is, it has to be soon. I’m not sure when the execution will take place, exactly, but likely as soon as the logistics allow. They won’t wait for protests.”

“But I—”

“The chain’s power is rapidly depleted. We should save some for an emergency. There’s not much else I can tell you at the moment. We’re doing all we can over here, but I believe you’re the one of us with the best chance at helping the Colonel. I’m sorry. Take care!”

Benjamin’s voice disappeared.

Yuliana sensed the contact fade and the flow of magical energy in the chain stabilized, somewhat reduced. Again, she was left in silence by herself, with regrettably few results, and just as little in terms of hope.

No one else would be able to lend her a hand in this dire situation. What had she even made the contact for? What had she expected the youth to do? The answer was too silly to even be voiced. Of course, she had secretly wished that whoever the powerful figure behind that odd man was, they would be able to achieve the impossible, only because she asked.

So that she alone would be freed from any painful sacrifices.

I’m even willing to depend on strangers? Is my spirit truly this feeble...?

Yuliana couldn’t keep running away from her responsibilities, she knew it. The life of a monarch was that of making compromises, as she had been told. No matter how far away she was from home, she couldn't escape being a princess.

So long as she refused to give in at anything, so long as she only kept demanding, dreaming, and shunning responsibility, she was no better than any sheltered royal child. Just as the Emperor had said.

The life of her dear mentor was on the line...If Miragrave was killed, it would be on Yuliana. Because she provoked the Emperor.

Taking a deep breath, the princess made up her mind. She walked to the bell hanging near the doorway, the bell connected to the servants’ quarters, and rang it.

5

Once again, three eccentric figures gathered around the long library table in the seclusive keep, wearing serious faces. Spread between them was a map of the vast city, detailing the districts near the western border of Eskeleion.

“So Mira-rin’s going to be toast.” Izumi furrowed her brows. “Some fast action, considering she only just came home and was safe and sound until yesterday.”

“Apparently, she fell from grace with the board of generals already a while back,” Benjamin explained. “It seems the Colonel was attached to the Felorn expedition part under the assumption that the mission was a guaranteed failure, providing them with the excuse to get rid of her. In the event that she didn’t die along the way, that is. Her safe return was definitely not a welcome event.”

“Fell from grace?” Izumi tilted her head.

The Court Wizard ended up answering her.

“For years, Colonel Marafel has been on the forefront of demanding increased support for Ledarnia. For us. She wants humans to take a more active role in the war against the daemons, and increase the material aid to our colony. As is to be expected, the Imperial generals do not love the idea of fighting monsters far across the sea; the losses would greatly outweigh the gains. They will much rather import our military know-how and apply it on local campaigns to subdue the other human states. They don’t need one of their own to complicate matters.”

“At the same time, there have been talks of Marafel becoming the first female general in the history of the Empire,” Benjamin continued. “Her leadership in the Dharvic war earned her great fame, and with her looks and charisma, she’s quite popular with the public. And popular individuals always look threatening in the eyes of the leaders. What’s worse, the Stohenkartes are loyal to her above any general and stationed right here, at the heart of the city. If only she wanted to, Marafel could easily stage a coup d’état, using the elite knights division to seize control of the palace. The Colonel’s practically holding a dagger on the Emperor’s throat, even as she pretends to be a mere loyal subject.”

“So that’s where the rub lies,” Izumi sighed with a troubled face. “I guess she had her circumstances. But thinking about it, wouldn’t she make a good ally to us? I mean, I kind of tried to recruit her into my harem—team, I mean—but she wasn’t too taken by my plan at the time. But if Lia’s doing the planning, we might just get her on board...We get Mira-rin and we get an army as bonus.”

“Hey, hey, aren’t you getting a little carried away?” Benjamin argued, looking unnerved. “Who are you planning to conquer?”

“Rescue would be difficult at this point,” Carmelia commented. “The third division garrison was elected as the execution site. It is a suitably remote location away from Selenoreion, close to the slums of the Gralia district. The Colonel will be executed together with a number of common criminals, to keep the occasion suitably controlled and low in profile. The local news outlets are pressured to withhold details. Apparently, the authorities are very much concerned with the risk of her subordinates interfering. But this also makes it more difficult for us to get to her. The Colonel was moved to the garrison’s holding cell earlier today. Our best chance was to extract her during the transit, an opportunity now lost to us.”

“As you can see, the garrison grounds are completely walled off on all sides,” Benjamin picked up, pointing at the map. “The only way in an out is the main gate here, and only authorized military personnel are allowed entry. Needless to say, the walls are guarded by archers around the clock. You’d need to be able to fly and turn invisible in order to get in.”

“Shucks,” Izumi remarked, staring at the map.

“There will come a time when the gates are opened to the public,” the Court Wizard said. “Shortly before the event itself, early in the morning. Executions tend to be open for all, so they will be letting in locals for a brief time. They obviously don’t want the Colonel’s demise to go entirely unseen. A number of knights from the Stohenkartes have also been assigned on guard duty—as witnesses, you might say. They’ll have to see what happens to those who turn on the Throne, and then take the message to their comrades.”

Benjamin glanced at the human woman across the table, at Itaka Izumi.

“The high command wants to make an example of Marafel. To improve discipline and quell the anti-government sentiments in the military that our antics have further fueled. It’s become a useful situation for them. One they’re not willing to give up easily.”

“...In other words, their hurry to get the murder machine going is in part thanks to me?” Izumi sullenly muttered, before looking up at the sorceress. “Is there no magical way for us to spirit her away from the holding cell then?”

“No,” Carmelia answered. “Your case was convenient for us. People were determined to forget you ever existed, and the isolation they imposed on you worked to our advantage. The Colonel’s situation differs, somewhat. She is kept under surveillance, day and night, in case she would try to take her own life to preserve her honor. Additionally, there are adept mages stationed at every garrison, who may perceive interference in their surroundings. If they catch any wind of my involvement...I shouldn’t need to remind you of my precarious position at the Court.”

“Yes, yes, Lia’s completely useless again, and I have to do everything by myself,” Izumi complained. “Well, I think I can get in with the crowds easily enough, once the doors open.”

“Don’t think it’s going to be that simple!” Benjamin told her. “They’re obviously checking people at the gate. You won’t get in with your sword, never mind other weapons, and there’s no way to hide or smuggle such onto the site beforehand either. There’ll be guards everywhere you look, and what can you do without a weapon? It’s hopeless and you’re going to get yourself killed! Please, just forget about it!”

“Mmmm...”

While Izumi was busy puffing her cheeks, giving Benjamin her, “don’t tell me what I can’t do”-face, Carmelia carried on.

“The guards would not be your only concern inside. I have received word that two heroes of the Guild will be present at the execution.” Taking out two of the previously seen profile pages, the Court Wizard placed them atop the pile of other documents. “Shivgried, the hero of the cursed spear, also known as the Impaler. And, carrying out the executions in person, infamous Raleigh...Attempting to save the Colonel would mean making those two your opponents.”

“Unarmed,” Benjamin added, going on to lift the spearman’s picture. “We went over Raleigh before, but take a look at this guy. Our intel paints Shivgried Zaxon as an upstanding member of the Guild. He once served as a soldier in the Stohenkartes himself, but resigned to join the Dharvic war as a freelancer. His achievements over the course of the campaign made him a celebrity, and now he ranks above any knight.”

“Well, isn’t he a hard worker?” Izumi shrugged. “Everybody in this guild of champs has some sort of cheat skills, don’t they? So what can he do?”

“Oh, you’d be sorely mistaken to think they’re all about some easily countered gimmicks,” Benjamin rebuked the woman. “These are real human beings, like you and me, who fought to the top through outstanding effort, talent, and bravery. Underestimating the heroes of the Guild wouldn’t end well for you. That being said, having a trump card or two did help them make a name for themselves. There is one peculiar legend I’ve learned about Shivgried as well.”

“Surprised: none.”

“Do you want to hear it or not!?” The man cleared his throat and explained. “Ahem, they say that Shivgried’s grandmother was a powerful witch and blessed the boy when he was still little. The spell she used supposedly gives him unnatural luck in battle, although I can’t say whether that is strictly true or just a fable.”

“There is some truth to it, yes,” Carmelia confirmed. “I have personally observed effects of a peculiar enchantment around the man. To describe its nature, in an event where a sufficient number of variables remain unknown, the spell aligns these small factors favorably for the bearer. For example, it would greatly reduce the chances that a randomly fired enemy projectile would hit him in battle. Conversely, were he to blindly loosen a bolt himself under identical circumstances, he would be nearly guaranteed to always hit a target.”

“So, basically, statistical manipulation?” Izumi summarized. “Guess that would get him thrown out of every casino in Vegas.”

“Uh-huh,” Benjamin nodded. “He’s certainly not the kind of a guy you want to face unprepared. But on top of his special luck, Shivgried also carries a rather nasty weapon.”

“Lanhglid, the cursed crulean spear,” Carmelia explained. “I know not where he obtained it, but it is one of the eldest, greatest treasures of military history, dating back a great many cycles. Made by the famous blacksmith Cowlénanh, the spear was enchanted to penetrate anything the spearhead lands on, regardless of the target’s defenses. In fact, according to an old anecdote, the weapon’s prior holder once thoughtlessly released it from his grip, causing the spear to slip straight through the entirety of Ortho, only to emerge again on the other side of the planet. And it was then that cruleans discovered the world to be a globe...”

“…….”

“……...”

“…...Heh.” The magician softly chuckled at her absurd story, while the other two stood stupefied.

“… Elves don’t think very highly of cruleans,” Benjamin whispered to Izumi.

“I can see that...” Izumi replied with a blank face. “But, we’ve already proven this stick has its limits. It couldn’t get through my sword, after all.”

“That may be true,” the man said. “But you can’t bring your weapon to the execution grounds, remember? You'd be defenseless. Really, I don’t see any way for us to interfere. Walking in there when you have a legion of soldiers and two famous warriors against you is a suicide, no way around it. Our only hope is that the princess can somehow persuade the Emperor to veto the verdict. Once the worst buzz dies down, we’ll have an easier time getting to the Colonel. So let us believe in her highness and wait. If that fails...well, we should probably brace ourselves for the worst.”

“Don’t forget,” Carmelia told Izumi, “your body is still recovering, and I am not done analyzing the effects of the Red Serum on you. Do not push yourself too hard now that your body is in such an unstable state, or irrecoverable ailments may occur.”

“Yes, yes...”

“Saying ‘yes’ once will do.”

Everyone around the table fell quiet, as if already praying in the prisoner’s memory.

Izumi glanced first at the man, then at the elven sorceress, as if expecting either one to break the silence with a well-timed, “unless...”

In vain. Neither met her look.

“So that’s it then?” Izumi asked. “We’re just going to sit still and do nothing? And that’s fine with you, Lia? Weren’t you friends with Mira-rin?”

“We mustn’t forget what we stand for,” Carmelia evasively responded, a neutral expression on her noble features. “The future of our races, of the world, depends on the choices we make here. We cannot risk everything for just one. It is irrational.”

“I have to agree,” Benjamin nodded. “It’s imperative that we keep our heads. As unfortunate as this is, Colonel Marafel is an outsider to our business. There are no guarantees that she’s willing to join our cause, even if we did somehow rescue her. We don’t have the luxury to be worrying about others while the noose tightens around our own necks. Rather, hiding more fugitives would only be another liability, one more way for the enemy to discover us. If we keep taking wild gambles like that, it will definitely come to cost us in the long run. Don’t give up hope, but don’t tempt fate either. Such is my policy.”

“You can only say that because you don’t know the person...” Izumi told him.

“You’re right,” Benjamin admitted. “But I believe that is all the more reason why I shouldn’t keep it to myself. As the only neutral party here, with no emotional investment, I have the necessary clarity of thought to say what needs to be said. As much as I loathe to be that ‘voice of reason’. But Ms Izumi, your life has been spared a great many times by now, by a hair. Please don’t waste those unlikely miracles for any emotional and thoughtless reason, all right? Not even God would forgive you if you did.”

“I’m not a Christian, though.”

Not responding, Izumi looked at the sorceress instead.

Carmelia didn’t look back. The cirelo remained quiet, her eyes closed, her face serene and still, as if she had turned into a statue on the spot, perfectly neutral and impartial.

“I get it,” Izumi finally said and turned to leave. “Yeah. I think I understand now. At any rate, I’m still feeling sleepy, so I’m gonna call it a day early.”

As if to emphasize her words, Izumi yawned wide and stretched her arms as she turned and left the library.

Shortly after the summoned woman had left, the Court Wizard recovered from her solemn meditation.

“I believe I shall also retire for the day,” she said and turned away from the table.

“Could you tell me something first, malevála,” Benjamin suddenly called after her. “After how long you’ve walked this earth, after all that you’ve seen, do you still hold faith in something like miracles?”

The sorceress paused, not turning.

“Of course not,” she answered, before continuing on through the grand doors out.

Early in the following morning, as a servant went to check up on her, Itaka Izumi’s room was found empty.