“Is it true that you are able to free enslaved men and women?” A woman dressed in bleak coloured clothes pushed aside the curtain of the confession’s box.

“You have come to the right place, lamb of God.” A gentle voice responded.

“How? Can you save them? Please, I need to save my husband and children. I will do anything! Please!” The woman pleaded. Her eyes were mostly desolate, though there were hints of hope.

“Of course.” A pale, petite hand was pushed through a slot within the box. The woman reached out to receive it, gripping a hold of it with a wrinkled, leather hand. She felt something be placed within her grasp.

“Go to the nearest parish, monastery, or cathedral to where your family are bound by work. Pass this letter on to a member of their clergy, and they will be set free,” the voice paused slightly. “However, as per the rules for those who become a freeman of the Church, they will have to join a convent. They will be assigned to paid work in a specific field, though they are free and will be treated as such.”

“Oh, thank you!” The woman cried out. “Thank you, thank you!”

“Wait, just before you leave. How did you find out?” The gentle voice asked, impatient.

“From the pamphlets on the streets. A learned man would preach their message. If you asked them the right questions they’d tell more. They’re usually a member of the gentry, a civil servant.” The woman responded, pushing the curtain away once more with newfound hope. - A transcript of a conversation spoken within a confession box between Heledd, a member of the Scholars of Theurgy, and free-woman, January 1263.

———

Rupert stared at the moat, which roiled and swirled red with the blood of the dead scab officers. He turned to face Cyffre, his expression a fierce fury.

“Did you know about this?” He spat out. Cyffre flinched, taking a step back in shock.

“N… No, I didn’t. I promise.” Cyffre said, panicking.

“Bastard… Obviously someone did because a whole regiment just butchered the scab officers!” Rupert cursed, pacing back and forth whilst gnawing his nails.

“They had it coming, even you wanted them dead…” Cyffre whispered.

“What? Speak up!” Rupert demanded.

“It’s nothing, Lord Rupert,” Cyffre backed down. “What should we do about the fight over there?” She nodded towards the fight ensuing in the middle of the moat between the Earls and the Marquis.

“I’ll wrap it up, or else my being here would have gone to waste,” Rupert shook his head. “As you said, their Marquis is already dead, so it’ll also signal the end to the skirmish.”

Cyffre opened her mouth to respond, but Rupert was already gone. He barked out the chant, “Ride,” and had flown into the brightly lit night sky. He was crouched upon his longsword and the wind brushed past as he travelled through the air.

She breathed a sigh in relief, shaken by Rupert’s unusual anger. She wasn’t exactly sure why he was so furious; he had got what he wanted in the end.

“If he’s not careful, he’ll run out of Malevolency soon, flying everywhere on his sword.” Cyffre muttered to herself in annoyance.

Rupert wasn’t concerned with his Malevolency usage. As a Duke, ‘Ride’s,’ expenditure wasn’t too great. It could be used in battles if enough care was given. Its burn on the Wick would be exponential if he used it to travel to different countries, however.

His gaze was locked on the fight in the distance. Cadmium rain droplets of energy surged violently around the battlefield. They were blown around by a flurry of wind formed from the brutality of their attacks. Men and women alike danced with incongruity. Their movements were feral and filled with malice yet were also delicate and strategic. It was a scene of barbaric elegance.

The blades of swords, spears, and battle axes cleaved through lone wisps, blasting others way. Some coalesced together, streaming along a river of blood. Others drifted solitary, their wondrous individuality intact. They exited the wounds of the Cymorthian ranked officers and entered the Berserker’s instead. The officer's Wicks were being siphoned as they fought, their wax melting, while the Berserker’s only grew fatter.

The woman wearing the war mask with an elongated smile split her attention, watching Rupert surge towards them on sword in her periphery. He weaved in the air passing spells that blew by their target, interfering with his trajectory. She slowly strafed around Marquis Tasai by taking intentionally positioned steps and barked out a chant in Tereum.

“Aura!” She channelled her Malevolency through her curved sabre, angling her blade so its trajectory was off from Marquis Tasai. Red embers flickered on its surface, before igniting to form an orb of fire that blasted out its tip like a cannonball. Marquis Tasai was able to dodge it deftly and it barrelled past him into the distance.

Rupert narrowed his eyes as he trained his attention on the Berserker’s aura blast. His hand that stabilised his balance inched towards the hilt, coyly caressing it. As the orb of fire drew nearer, he grabbed the hilt pulling it from underneath him. The woman smirked beneath the war mask and flicked her sword downwards.

It detonated. A torrent of dancing flames surged out towards Rupert in a warm embrace. Its embers flickered. Forked tongues speared towards the falling Rupert. His momentum was carrying him forth, though he was unable to control himself. His skin was heated under the harsh caress of the rush of air as he drew near.

Rupert pulled his legs towards his chest, placing his longsword back under his feet. He pushed upwards, jumping into the space above, his muscles bursting forth with enhanced strength. He vaulted over the explosion, his body sailing through the winter air, while Marwolaeth traversed the burning explosion.

He blinked hard, controlling his body with all his will to land on his sword once more. His momentum was slightly slower than his longsword, if he miss-timed the remount he would fall into the moat.

He descended, gliding just behind his sword. His foot clipped the hilt, knocking it so it was vertical. He struggled, readjusting his body, then reached out and grasped it tightly within his palm. Furiously, he kicked his legs out, placing his feet onto the blade of the sword and his palm slapped down onto the fuller.

Marquis Tasai was not oblivious to the diversion. He squinted his eyes carefully watching for further tricks. It was intolerable that he let an attack fly past him, but it was humiliating that he let it reach his commander. In a furious cry, he chanted.

“Sear.” His spear’s blade was heated by an incorporeal roaring blue flame until it reached a scorching red. His steps were planted carefully in positions that placed his body in awkward angles.

The female Berserker repeatedly shot out attacks, aiming spells in between the crevices that formed between his body and the other Earls. Tasai cut them in half or blocked them with his spear as they fell within his reach.

He twirled his spear in the air like that of a dancer performing graceful spins and rotations. Yet, as he stepped forth, he planted his left foot further away than he’d like, teetering him between being on and off balance.

Elfin wisps of energy leaked out of his left leg, gently floating in the air. A curved blade passed through them, and they temporarily dispersed before regathering once more.

Tasai inelegantly slashed out with his spear, his leg wavering under duress. Its blade severed the woman’s control over her formless fire. His awkward step provided the extra depth and reach he needed to destroy it, impeding its trajectory before it reached Rupert.

His efforts were rewarded as a wheel of fire sailed over his shoulder. It passed by while performing blistering revolutions. The wheel descended upon the Earl with the elongated smile, controlled by an invisible thread which snaked its path forwards following the woman’s movements.

Its speed was ferocious. The flames scorched the air. Its assault would not be impeded nor dodged.

“Aura!” The Earl Berserker shouted a startled chant. She forced her Malevolent energy through her sword, it bubbled as it flowed through, and it spat out an orb of fire. It exploded forth, rocketing towards the blazing wheel to contend its hegemony over the dominion of fire.

They collided. The orb impeded the wheel’s path, stopping it in its destructive wake. Though covered by a war mask, the Praeteritum Earl’s lips spread out as if tracing the elongated smile. She grinned like a Cheshire cat.

The smile broke. It was replaced by a look of disbelief which crushed her smug, mischievous, sense of victory.

Her dilated eyes watched as the wheel of fire broke through her aura’s blockade. It shredded the orb into ribbon-like strands of flames, separating them, then carefully weaving them back into the wheel’s revolutions. They joined the burning whirlpool.

In the distance, Rupert had responded to her attempt at defending herself with offence by turning his hand like he would on a tap's valve. The revolutions of the blazing wheel increased, it formed a wild maelstrom. The aura blast could do nothing; a ship lost to sea, riding fatal waves.

Marquis Tasai watched this scene carefully, hastily leaping backwards to distance himself from the effects of the spell’s aftermath. It struck. His vision of the Berserker became blurred from the absurd heat of the scorch.

A wave of fire detonated as the blazing wheel struck the ground. A blood orange hue billowed into the sky, and gaseous like fire roiled into the winter air. Tasai shivered in fear of the spell. Even he would be pressed to defend against it. Defensive spells lower than Duke were, and would be, useless in defending against such attacks. Only those of Duke and above would survive its might.

Rupert could see it clearly, though. He saw the wheel pulverize her chest, incinerating it instantly. The mangled flesh was burnt asunder. The rare remnants still attached to her cooked muscle and tissue were charred like the ashy remains of coal. Even as distant as her thigh had blistered over. The air bubbles beneath the skin protruded it out.

The dead Berserker stumbled backwards from the spell’s momentum. Just as it was to collapse, a streak of silver flashed. Red droplets of blood sprinkled in the air, splattering the ground. Marwolaeth had pierced through her throat, carrying her forwards, and then laid her to rest on the cold stone. Half its blade buried itself into the stone plateau, its hilt exposed.

A hand gripped it, pulling it out from its stone scabbard, raising it so that it pointed vertically downwards. Hilt in hand, Rupert reversed his inverse grip, and charged for the next Berserker Earl. Only two remained, and a Marquis and Duke had joined the fray.

“Tasai and Druan, join Methiant against the male Earl. I’ll take the final Berserker.” Rupert barked a command. They nodded in response. Tasai sprinted to join Methiant while Druan waited until Rupert arrived, enabling him to retreat from the archer’s onslaught.

Before he could do anything, his path towards the archer was impeded. Spears of lava, trailed by arcs of incorporeal scarlet light, surged towards Rupert. They bombarded down, strategic in placement, thrusting into the ground like monolithic pillars. While the stone plateaus had ruptured cracks around the spell's penetration, the lava monoliths formed a burning prison of molten fire that surrounded Rupert on all sides.

“Sear.” Rupert chanted. His Malevolent energy flowed from around his body, channelling into his longsword. A flame was fabricated beneath his sword heating it red as he cut out against his prison bars. A crevice formed within the molten fire for a split second, though it was shortly covered by the dripping, viscous lava from above.

The skin on the back of his neck prickled, and he hesitated no longer. With the blink of an eye, he cut precisely in different angles, cleaving a wide crevice through the bars. He vaulted through, manoeuvring his body so that only his clothes and breastplate were singed by the flames.

As he passed through to the other side, sprinting as soon as touched earth, he heard the sound of crackling from behind him, and the incorporeal light above. The archer had bombarded the prison of fire with a final spear of lava, detonating it on impact.

Rupert watched sweat trail down her face, and she trained her bow on him now rather than the sky. He weaved between volleys of flaming arrows, charging towards her like a juggernaut. With a diagonal step, his final leap dodged an arrow which brought him before her. The fight was now in close combat, her range advantage lost to Rupert’s agility.

His blade, still blistering hot from, ‘Sear,’ channelling through his longsword, hissed in the air as it severed down upon the archer’s arm. She held her bow with two hands and punched it at an angle towards Rupert’s sword to block his strike. The longsword scraped the side of the bow, as the archer traced its force to prevent a follow up strike.

Rupert slid forwards to the right and the archer’s body opened to a second strike. She was no longer defended as well by her bow. He thrust his longsword forwards, and the Berserker pivoted her weight, swinging her foot backwards following along an invisible arc. She pushed her bow forth once more to defend the thrust, knocking off course from her body.

Rupert reacted quickly, rotating his wrists so that his sword flicked out, severing at the archer’s hands. She couldn’t use her bow to defend herself, and her wrists were seared clean through. Her protective spells were destroyed by the blade’s enhancement. Her bow fell powerlessly to the floor, and a dull moan of pain resounded after.

Two limp hands fell to the ground, blood cascading down with it. A pool of blood submerged the back of the hands on the stone plateau. Their fingers reached upwards, contorted like two upturned spiders. A foot was planted into the blood, and a disfigured print remained.

“Fire.” Rupert chanted, fabricating a formless fire. With his sword, he controlled it to create a chain linked together by flames. He let go of his hilt with his left hand, pulling the flames back and wrapping them around his palm. He whipped it forwards, tying the Berserker’s arms together.

With a kick, he sent her stumbling backwards, and she collapsed to the floor. Rupert lashed out once more, the remaining chain of fire coiled its way around her legs like a snake and constricted her.

Without her Channeler’s weapons, she was crippled from Malevolent usage for the duration of time it was necessary to keep her alive. Similarly, without her hands, it would be easy to regulate her future contact with them. She was effectively neutered from Malevolency without having all her energy siphoned away.

He looked upwards and scanned the plateau. The last fight with the male Berserker had ended with him being executed. His corpse lay on the ground, burnt from the successive spells that were fired on him by the Earls and the Marquis. All that was left was to return to the star fort with their spoils of war and destroy the remnants of their brigade.