Anneliese felt as though she had returned to the invasion of Berendar, where she stood at the helm of a Veiden longship leading men towards a great throng of foes defending their homeland. There was nervousness, anticipation, and a dim hum of fear beneath it all, larger and stronger and more consistent than any feeling. This was war, she felt. And the stakes went far beyond merely her life. She stayed calm despite these sensations, aided by her own nature and the enchanted items Argrave had given her.

The Waxknights marched ahead of Durran and her, armor clanging against the granite path beneath them. They fearlessly cut their way towards the legion of monstrosities ahead. Leopards with the heads of cobras shot out their fangs as poison projectiles, while badger-like creatures flapped their wings, ready to assail them from the sky. Laughter cut above all the sounds: Durran’s, she knew. The man usually had a haze of cynical depression at most times, but in life-or-death battle, he came alive.

The bard is the passive one, Argrave’s voice rang in her head. If you attack him, he’ll remain level-headed. He won’t attack you immediately. He’ll do nothing but hold you back, using his own men while he aids them passively and waits for reinforcements. Silvic will be interfering with his abilities, so it shouldn’t be as deadly as it normally is.

Anneliese could see the bard in the back. The Barefaced Bard, Argrave had dubbed him. He was a wetland spirit, the same as Silvic, though more massive than the other they’d seen, standing at perhaps ten feet. His head was like a spearhead, though unlike Silvic or the Intrepid Troubadour, it had a face of flesh. It was a child’s face, pale and smooth, and jarringly placed amidst wood so unnaturally it seemed to be painted on. Its eyes were closed, as though it were dead.

The Waxknights charged into the horde of unnatural Sentinels with practiced deadliness. The reason that Orion had insisted on bringing those of his knights that were also mages became obvious—they became a storm of spell and sword that made their charge increase in devastation tenfold as fire, ice, lightning, and the earth tore through the battlefield.

Their charge cut through the Barefaced Bard’s retinue with seeming ease for a time. The strange hybrid animals fell one after the other before effective attacks could be made. But the bard placed his hands against the ground, and his childlike face came to life, eyes opening to reveal empty sockets. He began to sing. The elaborate gardens of the palace became animate, the hedges and trees contorting in impossible manners to assail and obstruct their rush. Much of the granite pathway was turned over as roots bit at the Waxknights feet.

“Step back!” Anneliese shouted, using her commander’s voice again after so long.

As had been agreed before the assault, the Waxknights obeyed her orders. They retreated slightly, tangling with the bard’s assault of greenery. As if on cue, the Sentinels began a countercharge, the true heavy hitters of the opponent revealing themselves in earnest. A giant python twice as thick as a man’s torso lunged out, seemingly seeking to swallow the knights whole. A squad of gibbons rushed out, swinging so quickly from hidden places it was shocking.

Conserve your magic. Considering how many opponents you’re dealing with, big B-rank spells are best, so whenever you feel it’s prudent, use that B-rank spell you used in the Marred Hallowed Grounds. You know, with the twin iceblades, Argrave’s voice echoed like a reminder.

And she did. She advanced past the retreating Waxknights, towards the lunging python’s gaping maw, and conjured the B-rank matrix for [Icebound Twinblades]. Two blades of ice appeared before her, each held by a set of frozen arms attached at the shoulder, and each taller than her. The python’s jaw caught on one blade, but the two arms braced themselves undisturbed.

When the blades of ice began spinning and moving forth, the python was ripped free from the wall it clung to. It hung on for but a second before releasing its bite. It slammed against the outer wall of the palace, dislodging a gargantuan statue that toppled down, killing the giant python and several other creatures. All the while, the [Icebound Twinblades] cut through countless foes before her.

Anneliese staggered from the powerful spell, and when the icy mist settled, her gaze locked with the Barefaced Bard’s empty eye sockets. A chill ran through her. Roots surged up out of the ground, grabbing at both of her legs. She was pulled into oncoming enemies, yet resisted stubbornly. Just then, Durran stepped past. He cast a simple flame spell then stabbed his glaive through it, and the unique properties of the wyvern bone carried the spell with the attack. Durran cleanly severed the attacking roots. She was freed.

“Conserve your magic, Anneliese,” Durran reminded her. She could practically hear his grin through his gray wyvern scale helmet. “And good job.”

Grateful to him, she stepped back, commanding the Waxknights to advance once more. As she retreated behind them, she looked into the far distance. There, she saw an overwhelming presence approaching them all too quickly.

The jongleur is aggressive and foolhardy. I have no doubt he’ll rush towards you blindly as soon as he figures out that the bard is under assault, Argrave’s words came to her.

The Jolly Jongleur, as Argrave had called him, did not match his description particularly well. It was an ape, kin to the gibbons that had assaulted them during their journey through the wetlands. It was giant, though, and white. It ran atop the triangular rooftops of the buildings within the palace as though balancing on a tightrope, its arms as thick and long as the titanic python she’d just slain. It held a true sword in its right hand, and though the blade was thick, black, and crude, the liquid light teeming on its surface told of its true power.

The jongleur tore a spike off the tip of one of the roofs and threw it towards Anneliese with astounding ferocity. She barely had the time to use her ring to conjure a B-rank ward, and even the ward barely stopped the projectile.

She dared a glance to where Argrave waited, but the way light fell made her unable to see beyond the window.

It’s up to him, then, Anneliese noted mentally.

#####

Argrave watched the Jolly Jongleur prance about the rooftops erratically. His head was swimming in pain, and he felt such an intense power in his fingertips it felt as though he was holding back the ocean. Even now, blood danced from his fingers, his eyes, his nose, his ears, all fueling the spell in his hands. Behind, Galamon and his Brumesingers dealt with what few foes entered the buildings.

“Come on, you fucker… land,” Argrave muttered.

The [Bloodfeud Bow] had grown in volume and intensity so much it was astounding. The air around Argrave was filled with a dark red mist, so faint it was barely noticeable. Dust and air swirled about from the tip of the bloody arrow, which had grown larger than his arm.

As if answering his prayers, the ape vaulted over one of the rooftops and landed in the center of the pathway, rushing towards Anneliese and her party with an intense ferocity. Once it passed by the pink flower above the hedges, it was as though a trap had been sprung. Roots exploded upwards, and the jongleur howled in primal surprise as they curled around him, ensnaring him.

Triumph and nervousness filled Argrave so intensely his head grew light. He tried to aim as best he could, but the emotions made his head dance. He fell to one knee, his vision only whiteness. When the ringing settled and his vision cleared, the jongleur thrashed about, breaking free of its snare.

Argrave felt a complete dread as the monkey wrenched free its gargantuan crude sword out of the trap and rushed towards Anneliese. He followed it with the bow, shaking as he stood on one knee. He saw its legs brace, and his focus intensified to a ridiculous degree. He raised the bow upwards, howling in agony as his body protested.

The monkey jumped up into the air, sword held above its head. Argrave released the power he’d been holding in his right hand and finished casting [Bloodfeud Bow].

The dark red arrowhead tore through the bay window, the wall, and passed through the sky so quickly it was not all visible. It was a streak of crimson that spurred intense winds as it travelled, and the hedges close and distant both blew, shaken by the intense power. Argrave did not see the arrow hit the jongleur.

But the arrow did hit the jongleur. It had to have done so, elsewise the gaping hole in his chest and his missing head were quite the coincidence.

The jongleur’s body spun about wildly from the tremendous force, the sword still held in hand. It twisted through the air, falling atop the Waxknights and Sentinels both as they fought. The jongleur landed in the middle of the battle, like a statement to their foes.

Argrave gasped, half a laugh and half a groan of pain. He tried to rise to his feet, ready to shout, “Time for a Blessing!”

He quickly found rising to his feet was a mistake. His vision went white once again, his hearing vanished… and soon, the white was replaced by blackness. He felt his feet leave the ground, his head leaning forward.

#####

Anneliese gazed upon the corpse of the Jolly Jongleur. His hands were near as large as she was, and still clung to the sword it held. Much of its torso and all of its head had simply… vanished, transformed into naught but a fine red mist, still scattering across the battlefield even now. She felt a fool, but glanced back to where the shot had come from.

She found she was not a fool rather quickly, as Argrave tumbled off the gaping hole in the wall, body limp and unconscious.

Her mind very nearly shut down as she juggled variables—she was the commander of the battle, the Barefaced Bard was behind her, yet Argrave had planned to use the Blessing of Supersession, and he’s unconscious and could be vulnerable—all these thoughts came so quickly.

When she saw Galamon jump down from the hole in the wall and coming to Argrave’s side, she felt immeasurable relief. She spared a glance back towards the Waxknights and Durran, then said, “Step back!” once again. “Silvic! Full attention!”

With that last order given, she ran towards Argrave in a panic far unlike what she was used to experiencing. When she neared, she slid towards him recklessly. Galamon already attempted to rouse him, shaking him lightly but intently.

“Don’t shake him,” she scolded, yet felt a fool not moments after—she merely did not wish to see him hurt.

Galamon stood and said, “I will guard.”

His eyes blinked open, unfocused, and she felt immeasurable relief. Trying her best to remain calm, she scanned his body for injuries. His armor had scuffs on it, likely preventing genuine harm from the fall.

“One shot,” she heard him mutter. “Air shot. One shot.” He giggled deliriously.

Anneliese used the B-rank healing spell [Bounteous Vitality], an all-purpose general heal that might solve some issues, even if it did nothing for the loss of blood. It seemed to have an immediate effect. His blinking lost its drowsy nature, and his black and gold eyes regained sharpness.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” she insisted, hoping to all she held dear it was true.

He looked at her, confused. When Galamon slew something behind them, he shouted, “Christ!” and sat up quickly.

Anneliese wished to tell him he should take it easy, ensure he was not harmed… yet she knew she could not say that. Instead, she stood and pulled him to his feet. Behind, Silvic stepped free from where she had been hiding, moving to aid the Waxknights and Durran, who fell back even still.

“We move,” she grabbed his arm.

Argrave looked to the battle ahead, clutching his head in pain and trying to retain his balance. She supported him. He looked around. Though the Jolly Jongleur was dead, his servants began to catch up with him, and the battle with the Barefaced Bard was not yet won. “Still got… work to do, looks like,” he concluded.