x - forme - CHERREADS

The dance of death and steel was reaching its climax. Wilhelm wielded his blade with a chilling clarity, growing ever faster and more nimble. Libre's responses with his twin blade were balletic, but his injuries were increasing as he found it harder and harder to avoid Wilhelm's blows.

This startling display of swordsmanship was the result of a mind-boggling talent combined with Wilhelm's own sweat and tears. Libre had lived a long life and knew few who could challenge him in combat. He could only feel admiration at having found a challenger in a boy so young.

This was ominous, he thought. He felt that not only the boy's sword technique boded ill, but also the quality of his humanity. He was incomplete, imperfect. Immature. He was still young, and had not yet mastered himself.

He said that he wanted to be steel. To be the swipe of a sword.

Perhaps that was the task he had set himself and the motivation that had driven him. The weight and quickness of his strikes could have been achieved through halfhearted effort. But as he dodged and deflected the blows with his twin blade, Libre could feel that the torrent of emotion contained in the attacking sword was not that of steel.

The emotions burned hot, and steel did not heat itself. It was the way of the human heart to be swayed by feelings, but it was those same emotions that gave intensity to their fighting. This devil who wished to be a sword—was still human.

"Heh-heh."

"What's so funny?!" Wilhelm demanded of the chuckling Libre. Wilhelm's face was covered in blood.

"Oh, nothing," Libre said. "It's simply that even as we try to kill each other, I simply can't get excited about fighting a wooden opponent. If I'm going to pit my way of life against another's, I want it to be someone who bleeds, someone who weeps!"

The commotion was immense. The flash of sparks, the clang of clashing blades, their stamping across the earth all added to the cacophony. Life bloomed in every blow, emotions were expressed in every strike, and all the noise cried out for more combat.

He wasn't steel. He wasn't a demon. Here, he was just a boy named Wilhelm. Libre's opponent was just a single human, and Libre himself was just a single demi-human—the whole war was encapsulated in the two of them.

Wilhelm just managed to find an opening from above, spinning to bring his sword toward Libre's neck. The serpent raised his weapon and caught it —and then the blade shattered, and Wilhelm's strike found its mark.

Libre's vision went red. But the blow's power had been blunted, and the sword was unable to pierce Libre's scales. With the sword half buried in his neck, Libre brought up the remaining end of his twin blade to sweep at Wilhelm.

The difference between them as species, the difference in the abilities they were born with, decided this battle. It was, indeed, the reason for this entire civil war.

"In the end…maybe we are different," Libre mused. "Maybe we can't understand each other. For just a moment, I almost thought I had gotten

through to you, if ever so little. Did I imagine it?"

Wilhelm fell back, clutching the wound on his chest. Libre thrust with his sword. But even as death approached, the boy's murderous eyes refused to admit defeat. Sadness flooded Libre's heart. Such intense vitality did not deserve this fate.

"You really are human, aren't you? So utterly human, it brings me sorrow. But it doesn't change the fact that you're a threat to me and mine. I regret to say that this is good-bye."

The boy could not be allowed to live. Libre might be taunted; it might be said that his own humanness had been exploited in combat. But his affection for a given individual and his pride as a demi-human were different things.

Libre Fermi was not in a position to give precedence to his personal feelings. He knew that all his actions must advance the demi-human cause. And so—

"When this is all over, I shall put a flower on your grave. A blood-red one, full of the heat of passion."

Then he raised his halved twin blade, hoping to offer the Sword Devil at least a painless death.

The next instant, a beam of light pierced Libre's chest from behind.

The moment before death came to him, Wilhelm's life did indeed flash before his eyes.

"Hrrk! Haah!"

Blood accompanied Libre's long tongue as it slid out of his mouth; trembling, he looked behind him in amazement. There stood the witch Sphinx, who had appeared suddenly, her glowing finger pointed in their direction.

"What…do you think…you're doing?"

"Right. I have been injured more severely than I planned and am currently retreating. While I do so, I wished to request the protection of the most capable person I could, and you were near at hand, so I have selected you."

Libre looked down at the hole in his chest, touched the bloodless wound, and smiled.

"Is that so…? I must say, this hardly looks like a request to me."

"I do not have time to negotiate, so I have decided simply to kill you and make you my puppet immediately. Do not fear. Valga has told me of how desperately he needs you. Thus, although I will turn you into an undead warrior, I plan to take every measure to prevent you from rotting. This requires careful thought."

"Valga… That fool. I told him…we couldn't control you…"

Brandishing his broken blade, Libre turned toward Sphinx. She cocked her head at this behavior. "Based on your injuries and level of fatigue, I conclude that resistance is futile."

"Futility is no reason for inaction. I…am the pride of the demi-human race. Libre Fermi! Do not underestimate me, you little bitch!"

Fangs bared, Libre sprang forward. His movements and speed would never have betrayed that he was on the edge of death.

"I didn't want to hurt you too much, but you give me no choice." A storm of white light assaulted the oncoming Libre, piercing his chest, knees, and neck. Blood sprayed everywhere; countless coin-size holes opened in Libre's body, and he toppled to the ground.

"Damnable…witch… You shall ne…never have…m-m…"

"—"

"V—Valga… The rest is…up to…y—"

These two unfinished imprecations were Libre's last words as a beam of light struck him in the head. And so the strongest of the demi-humans fell dead, a great hole in the middle of his face.

As his chance to settle things with such a fine opponent was stolen from him, Wilhelm said nothing. He watched as Sphinx placed a palm on Libre's remains.

"I will tell Valga you died honorably in battle. My study suggests that report would make you happy. Now, then…"

"W-wait…"

As Sphinx began to rise, Wilhelm stopped her, murder in his eyes. But the way she looked at him suggested that, to her, his hatred was nothing more than a gentle breeze.

"Fear not; you are safe. I have no intention of harming you. I wish to leave this place promptly and make ready for what is next. This requires preparation."

"Don't mock me! You're…letting me live? Why? Fight me… F-fight… me…!"

Sphinx's formerly expressionless eyes widened. "I am most surprised to hear you say such a thing, in your present state." Then she nodded several times, surveying Wilhelm with interest. "You clearly are unable to do battle. Yet you seek combat. I do not understand. Perhaps because my emotions are incomplete. I see that you, too, require observation."

"Observation…?"

"Valga, who burns with hatred, and Libre, who wielded his sword with sadness, were both objects of study. You, the vessel of an anger that supersedes death, are one, too… I am eager for the next chance to observe you."

With that, Sphinx turned around. Wilhelm wanted to call out, stop her; he tried to rise up, but his limbs wouldn't move. Instead— "…Libre."

The corpse of Libre Fermi, the light gone from its eyes, stood up. Libre now wore the empty expression of an undead warrior, and he spared no attention for Wilhelm as he followed after the departing Sphinx. The tall serpent and the diminutive girl vanished into the distance, leaving Wilhelm alone.

"Damn it all," Wilhelm growled, gritting his teeth so hard he thought they might crack and cursing his immobile body. His eyes were open wide, and he lay curled in the corner of a battlefield scorched by the flames of war, voicing his hatred to himself like a spell.

"You'll pay… You'll pay! I'll make you regret this… You'll regret leaving me alive! Damn it! Damn it all to helllllll!"

His last word turned into a wrenching howl of despair, and the Sword Devil's personal defeat underscored all that had happened that day. Wilhelm's regret and anger burned until the royal army found him and long after. It was clear to everyone that the flames would not be doused until he cut off the head of the witch.

The Battle of Aihiya Swamp went down as the worst defeat since Castour Field.

The blow was not as one-sided as Castour, but the royal army had sacrificed nearly twice as many men, the greatest loss of life in a single battle since the start of the civil war. All the royal troops involved had been simultaneously weakened by the effects of the magic circle around the battlefield, and casualties were reckoned at greater than 60 percent.

The weight of this defeat was felt keenly at general headquarters, and responsibility was pinned on the mid-level eradicators of the magic circles —in other words, on whoever had nullified the most magic circles on the field. As a result, Lyp Bariel, viscount of the south, found his name marred as a war criminal.

Lyp protested mightily, demanding a retrial from general headquarters. Not only was he a suspect in the death of his predecessor, but also Lord Crumère, his former commanding officer, was only too happy to report his bouts of violence and irrationality. Ultimately, he was unable to regain his honor, and his suit was denied.

The viscount was only the first of many officers to become scapegoats;

the majority of the units in the royal army had suffered losses, and the postmortem went on without mercy. Among those whom the battle had badly bloodied was Zergev Squadron, a unit renowned for its heroism. Its survivors numbered just eleven.

These included Bordeaux Zergev and Grimm Fauzen; Wilhelm Trias was soon added to the list. Zergev Squadron's casualties, including Vice Captain Pivot Anansi, numbered sixty-nine. Each and every one of them had become undead warriors and been dispatched by Bordeaux.

Later, history would see this as a convenient point at which to mark the beginning of the final phase of the civil war. It would change not only the course of history but all those who participated in the conflict.

Bordeaux Zergev was now solidly on the side of demi-human extermination, moved by his profound hatred for the witch.

Grimm Fauzen's wounds cost him his voice, setting his kindhearted lover adrift on a sea of sorrow.

As for Wilhelm Trias, that battle was the day he began to wonder about the path of the sword and question his very way of life.

He could not find the answer to that question alone. But the day he found the answer would come before long.

THE LOVE SONG OF THE SWORD DEVIL

Fifth Stanza

More than a month had passed since Aihiya.

There had been no major battles in the kingdom during that time, and on the surface, all seemed quiet. But a look at the nation's domestic politics showed that such an assessment would earn more than a roll of the eyes from those in the know.

The losses at Aihiya had cost the kingdom more than 40 percent of its fighting power; the army was undergoing a massive reorganization and was concerned about how to deal with this dramatic reduction in force.

Zergev Squadron was not immune from the effects of this. Nearly 90 percent of the long-standing members of the unit had been killed, including Vice Captain Pivot. The squadron was in tatters, and whether it was even possible to rebuild was an open question. Zergev Squadron was famous for its strength of spirit. Wilhelm and Bordeaux returned miraculously safe, but while they had not been severely injured physically, the same could not be said of their hearts.

There were wounds in that battle no armor could protect them from and that pained them even now.

"You somehow seem even more fearsome than before," the girl said suddenly as she watched Wilhelm silently lose himself in his blade.

They were in a corner of the poor district, in the plaza next to the field of flowers. Due to the ongoing restructuring of the army, Wilhelm had no specific assigned unit. Neither was there any battle to fight. His days mounted with depression and anger. Recently, he had been coming here daily to work with his sword.

That, of course, meant more opportunities to see the girl who spent her time here. He had even become used to her periodic interjections during his practice.

"Feh."

"Oh! You clucked at me just now!" The girl sounded put out.

Being used to her comments didn't make them any less annoying, and Wilhelm had made no attempt to hide his noise of frustration.

"I just hate it when you make it so obvious," the girl said. "Could you stop?"

"It's my choice where I practice my sword and my choice where I click my tongue," Wilhelm said. "Even if you happen to be nearby, wasting your time doing nothing."

"Don't say that. I'm admiring my flowers and expanding my heart…

Won't you put it that way?"

"You should be glad I said wasting your time and not wasting your life."

It was their custom to trade barbs like this, without looking at each other. They each came here to relax, but they ended up in these childish arguments. It was silly, yet neither wanted to give in by going somewhere else. And so the two of them saw more and more of each other.

"I'd have to say it's you who's wasting time," the girl said. "And it looks like soldiers have plenty of time to waste. You're always hanging around here these days."

"…The military is reorganizing. I won't be going anywhere for a while. You really think this is what I want? And I'm not 'hanging around.'" "You think? Even though you're having so much fun swinging your sword? …I guess you haven't been enjoying yourself much recently, by all appearances."

"What do you know?" Feeling she had seen through him, Wilhelm attempted to conceal how much it bothered him with a mean remark.

He didn't swing his sword for fun, but there was no denying Wilhelm enjoyed the time he spent absorbed in his practice. Indeed, for him, those times were the very fulfillment of his life. And the girl was right that now, he found he could no longer face the sword with purity of purpose.

Libre's words from Aihiya Swamp reverberated in his head.

Come at me, immature one. I shall teach you how a newborn first cries.

Wilhelm had been an instant from the end of his life back then. If Sphinx hadn't intervened, he would be dead right now. But their fight had been interrupted, and his battle that day would remain forever unresolved. "Frowning again! You're too young to let your face get stuck that way."

Suddenly, the girl was standing in front of the silent Wilhelm. He was startled to realize he hadn't noticed her, and he grabbed his own face in an attempt to force the frown away.

"The way you go around scowling and glaring and looking all prickly, I bet everyone is too scared to come anywhere near you."

"Shut up! What's it to you? What do you mean, 'too young,' anyway? How old do you think I—"

"Eighteen. Same as me. Right?"

The girl was pointing at him with a wink. Wilhelm couldn't make a sound. She was right. And he wasn't so shameless or concerned with trivialities to try to hide that fact.

"See?" she said. "Wouldn't it be embarrassing to get frown lines at that age? If you have to get wrinkles, why not get laugh lines from smiling at flowers?"

He looked away, but the girl seemed to take this as an answer and giggled prettily. Then she spun around in a little dance, and Wilhelm found his attention stolen by the way her beautiful red hair fluttered in the wind. And as the strands vanished from his peripheral vision, they were replaced by a field of yellow flowers.

He had seen that field over and over, every time he had met the girl. So he was used to her proud look as she showed him the plants, as well as the question that came next.

"Do you like flowers?"

What kind of answer did she want? Nothing had changed. Wilhelm shook his head and replied, "No, I hate them."

"You been to the castle town again?"

Bordeaux's towering frame blocked Wilhelm's way back into the soldiers' barracks. His beefy arms were crossed, and he glared down at Wilhelm.

The swordsman clicked his tongue. "What if I have? Some sort of problem with that?"

"Damn right there is. We may be in the middle of a reorganization, but you never know when or where those demi-human bastards might strike. The military has to be ready for anything at any time. I don't care if you're on your day off or what, you'd better—"

He stopped in the middle of this unusually logical argument, closed his eyes, and began again slowly.

"Ahem. That's what's expected of you and me."

"—"

Wilhelm felt a chill pass down his spine. His commander was completely right. Normally, such careful logic would have come from Pivot, not Bordeaux. Bordeaux would have slapped Pivot on the back and shot him down.

Bordeaux Zergev had changed since the battle at Aihiya Swamp, though he had no obvious visible injuries. The difference was internal, as was amply evident in his attitude and behavior. He had begun trying to speak more properly, as he had done just now, and strove to say things befitting his position. It was as if Pivot's departed hollow, his spirit, were whispering to him.

But the biggest difference of all would be evident to anyone who spent time with him. Of course Wilhelm, who had known Bordeaux for more than three years, would notice it.

"The kingdom can't spare your abilities right now. Practice as much and however you like. But keep in mind to stay where you can be called to action at any time. That's all I ask."

Bordeaux's face as he spoke was all darkness and doubt. There wasn't so much as a hint of a smile or laughter, and that was the most drastic change.

"After all, I'm pretty sure I don't have to give you a direct order to kill those barbarians."

The old Bordeaux would never have revealed the depth of his anger and hatred so openly. These displays gave Wilhelm a strange tightness in his chest. He disliked the feeling of his own weakness and determined to avoid Bordeaux even more than before.

"There'll be another big battle soon. That's what Lady Mathers says. Be ready."

Wilhelm hadn't spoken at all and didn't break his silence. Bordeaux clapped him on the shoulder and then opened the path to the barracks. The way Bordeaux came to speak to Wilhelm himself, rather than sending some lackey, gave Wilhelm the impression that Bordeaux had not lost all his old directness. But he quickly discarded the feeling.

After meeting the girl in town and Bordeaux in front of the barracks, Wilhelm's emotions were in shambles. He went inside. As he headed back to his quarters, he passed the barracks captain. The man looked about to ask what had happened, but Wilhelm silenced him with a glance and walked quickly into his room.

The royal army had military dormitories in each district of the capital, and the building Wilhelm was assigned to was one for the upper staff. This was the highest treatment for a foot soldier who had not attained the rank of knight, and he appreciated life in a private room that minimized his chances of running into other people. So much so, in fact, that he was apt to get angry at uninvited visitors.

"You were up bright and early this morning."

"Why the hell are you here?"

"When I showed him who I was, the barracks captain let me in here. Even though I told him I could wait downstairs."

"You're overstepping."

He thought back to the pathetic face of the barracks captain he'd passed in the hallway and clicked his tongue, although the captain was long gone.

Carol had been waiting in Wilhelm's room. She was in normal women's clothes rather than her knight's armor, and it made her a bit less intimidating. It reminded Wilhelm that she was, after all, a woman. Not that he was stupid enough to say that out loud—it would only earn him a tongue-lashing and make this encounter longer than it needed to be.

"You know," Carol said, "I've known you for three years, and this might be the first time I've gotten to sit and have a quiet chat with you."

"There's not going to be anything quiet about it. Get out of here."

"You haven't changed. Or…maybe you changed a little and then went back to how you were. You have that look in your eyes that reminds me of a stray dog—or a mad one."

"Did you come here just to pick a fight? I'm impressed you'd go to all the trouble on your day off. Fine, I'll oblige you."

Their respective warrior spirits clashed briefly before Carol frowned and sighed.

"I didn't expect you to be happy to see me," she said. "Once I'm done here, I'll leave immediately."

"Oh, so you were looking for something else besides trouble?"

"This is about Grimm, of course. What else do you and I have in common?"

Wilhelm made a disgusted grimace at the mention of Grimm's name. Ever since his injuries, he had been shut up in a medical center. Wilhelm, naturally, had not gone to visit him once.

After all, why would he? A visit would serve no purpose, and anyway, the relationship between them wasn't like that.

But to find Carol going out of her way to come to his room like this—

"I came to tell you that Grimm wants to see you."

It was exactly what he'd expected her to say. It wasn't lost on Wilhelm that Grimm and Carol shared the bond of a man and woman. Well, they could care about each other if they wanted. But they shouldn't push it on him.

"All right, you've delivered your message. Congratulations. But I don't have any intention of listening to you. Going to see him would be a waste of effort."

"Why, you—"

"But I'm impressed you were able to bring me a message from someone who can't talk. I didn't know he was literate enough to write down—"

"Don't get too pleased with yourself, Wilhelm Trias." Carol's intensity rose again as though to resume their contest earlier. Wilhelm narrowed his eyes. Carol's empty hand was clenched in a fist. "Grimm may forgive all the humiliating things you say about him, but I will not stand here and allow you to demean him."

"You're talking about the sort of thing friends do. Don't try to force it on me."

The two of them stood exchanging dangerous stares.

Carol looked away first. Wilhelm scoffed.

She shook her head slowly and headed for the door, but then she said, "I brought you his message, even if it's hopeless. Just once, try doing something decent by a friendship forged in battle."

"Since when are he and I friends?"

"Grimm sees you as his brother in arms. I thought maybe I could, too." Carol left the room, an intimidated-looking Wilhelm behind her. He heard the door close, then he threw himself down on his bed in frustration.

He exhausted his swordsman's spirit glaring at the ceiling. After that, only emptiness was left in his heart.

The place was filled with the stench of rot and blood. Valga frowned at the stomach-turning odor as he entered the little building. But though his old face might have been frowning, he would not turn away from any of this. All the tragedies he witnessed were the result of his own decision. It would be unthinkable not to look.

"…Sphinx. How's your progress?"

He didn't even greet the small, hunched figure before flinging out his question. The robed girl stood up when he spoke, wiped her face with the blood-stained fabric, and turned around.

"It will require ongoing observation. One thing I have concluded, though, is that it doesn't smell nice. It may indeed be too much for me, as the incomplete creation of my mother, to reconstruct a spell missing its most crucial element."

"Awful lot of whining for a so-called witch… I'm sorry. I'm just angry." He let out a long sigh and looked past the girl, Sphinx. Standing behind her was a snake-man covered in green scales—what was once Libre Fermi.

"So there's nothing left of you. It's a real pity, Libre."

Once the strongest warrior among the demi-humans, the light of life was gone from Libre's eyes. Yet he still stood and fought at the behest of the witch —the result of a spell that could cause the dead to move. But he was an undead warrior now, capable of following only simple commands. He could no longer fulfill Libre's role.

"So many of our fellows have surfaced after our victory at Aihiya. And the blow we dealt to the humans was severe. To think, this may be our

greatest opportunity since this war began, and—!"

"Isn't it enough that you're here? Or couldn't this undead warrior act the part you have in mind?"

"…No. It's not enough. I don't have the facility to stand at the head of our allies. And no empty corpse is going to be able to muster the charisma of

Libre's leadership!"

Valga glared at the undead Libre, then put his thick palms to his face.

The strategy at Aihiya Swamp had gone exactly according to plan, a major blow against the royal army. This should have been an opportunity to decimate a broken enemy, but Libre's death in battle was completely outside Valga's calculations. As much as he hated to admit it, Valga knew that Libre's influence on the Demi-human Alliance was even greater than his own.

Sphinx had at least succeeded in collecting the body and reanimating it as an undead warrior, but no spell, no matter how unholy, would truly bring Libre back.

"Though the flesh is revived, the soul does not reside within it," Sphinx said. "Reconstructing the Sacrament of the Immortal King is difficult indeed."

"How to continue the civil war without Libre…? We don't have many options left."

"But we have some…?" Sphinx narrowed her eyes.

Valga gave a deep nod. Of course, he had considered the possibility that he or Libre might not survive this war. He had hoped Libre might outlast him, but it had been the serpent who went first—such was their fate.

Now I can do what I could never have done with Libre here.

"He hated the thought of the world gone to hell. He would have stopped me, possibly by force, from sending this world somewhere even lower."

"And what is it that you wish from me in this hell?"

"I will open the gates of the netherworld and comfort the souls of our departed comrades with the humans' screams and death rattles. And you yourself will lead the way. All the kingdom's warriors shall be burned to ash in the flames of my wrath!"

The anger blazed within him; it never faded and never would. Every provocation would feed it until it razed everything to the ground.

The flames would never be quenched. This, if nothing else, Valga knew to be true.

"Libre is gone and I remain. Consider it testament to my undying rage."

Valga began a terrifying set of calculations of what would become the fuel for the flames. It was the beginning of the most crucial battle in the whole of the Demi-human War.

"…This requires observation."

And it was the beginning of the end that would settle the doom of many, including the witch Sphinx.

The demi-humans continued intermittent attempts to wreak havoc in the capital.

"Wha?! Y-you're the Sword Devil…!"

"Ruuuahhhh!"

Wilhelm threw himself at one group trying to cause trouble on the capital's high outer walls around the city. Some of this simplistic mischief was simply the work of ruffians caught up by the idea of demi-human superiority.

The reorganization of the army was behind schedule, and Wilhelm had been assigned to a unit of military police. He had already cut up several such groups of ne'er-do-wells.

One of the men held the fatal wound on his torn belly, spitting blood and contempt. "T-to think our fight would end like this… Cur—curse you, you animal…!" But Wilhelm was accustomed to such abuse. He readied his sword to grant the man a mercifully quick death.

"Quit your yammering, you idiot," he muttered. "If you're so afraid to die, learn to use a sword."

"…You think so…? Then take your…famous sword… Soon tongues of flame will lick the whole nation… Even the capital will not escape destruc

—"

"—?"

These were strange words with which to greet death, but it didn't matter. Wilhelm struck off the demi-human's head before he was finished speaking.

Wilhelm had sent the body tumbling over the wall with a kick and then finished off the group by the time the other guardsmen arrived. They were nearly speechless at the scene before them.

"A-are you the notorious Sword Devil, Wilhelm…?" The man's voice cracked as he said the nickname, even though they were supposedly on the same side. His friends were as scared of him as his enemies. That was something else he was used to.

The name of the Sword Devil, as well as Wilhelm's, were now inextricably associated with blood and death. That was why…

"I'm Theresia. All right? Call me Theresia. And you are…?" He'd stayed silent.

"You are…?"

"—?"

"Oh, come on! I'm sure you understand. I'm asking you to tell me your name, obviously!"

She puffed out her cheeks and stamped the ground; the girl in front of him —Theresia—was clearly frustrated.

They were in the square as usual, and Wilhelm had just finished his daily practice. She had gestured him over. He hadn't been able to refuse. As they were looking at the flowers, she had suddenly said in annoyance, "I'm not hey you or girl. Call me by my name."

Wilhelm had replied that he didn't know what her name was. Her eyes had gone wide. They had known each other for three months now, and it was a little late for introductions.

She had coughed, then quietly said, "Theresia…"

He thought it was a fitting name. Always smiling like the sun, sometimes annoyingly talkative and yet—charming. Her mood was dangerously prone to sudden swings, but still—Theresia. Yes. It was a better thing to call her than

"Flower Girl."

"Hey! Why aren't you saying anything? Are you even listening to me?"

"…Yeah. That's a pretty nice name, I guess."

"Oh, uh… Y-you think so? Well, I do appreciate your saying so…"

"I mean, I've been calling you 'Flower Girl' all this time."

"Whaaaat?"

He just had to go and add a little too much information. Theresia's expression changed completely, her cheeks red at going from happiness to anger so quickly. Wilhelm dodged all her attempts to step on his foot.

"Ahh!" Theresia exclaimed. "You are the worst! Anyway, aren't you about ready to answer me?"

"—?"

"Why are you acting like you don't know what I want?! I'm asking you to tell me your name!"

She stamped the ground again. Wilhelm wondered what the problem was —and then questioned himself for wondering. All he had to do was tell her his name. It was only polite, and Wilhelm had no reason not to.

Not even if it would provoke her terror and disgust.

"It's Wilhelm Trias."

If Theresia knew that the royal army called him "the Sword Devil" and what they said about him… The girl who loved flowers would revile him. The thought brought a strange ache to his chest.

"Wilhelm. Yes. Wilhelm, Wilhelm, Wilhelm."

"…Stop saying that."

"Huh. That's a pretty nice name, I guess." Her eyes glittered mischievously. Perhaps she thought she was paying him back for earlier. "It sounds very like you, Wilhelm."

Wilhelm was silent at this; he was feeling too many things at once to know how to respond.

"Still, it's a little strange."

"Yeah?"

"I mean, it's been three months since we met each other…but we're just now getting introduced." Theresia stuck out her tongue and smiled shyly. At the sight, Wilhelm felt the confusion of emotions in his chest evaporate. His body felt strangely light.

"Why should we have known each other's names?" he said. "We didn't have any interest in each other. We both just happened to show up here at the same time to do what we wanted to do."

"Really? I had a little interest in you. And it's not like I don't know anything about you, Wilhelm. You hate flowers, don't you?"

"…Yeah, that's right. And, Theresia, you love them."

"Yes! See? We do know something about each other. We wanted to know."

She puffed out her chest triumphantly, and Wilhelm found the corners of his mouth turning up slightly of their own accord. It was rare for him: a smile that was neither ironic nor grim.

"By the way, Wilhelm. Do you like flowers?"

The question came at him unexpectedly, while he was trying hard to stiffen his cheeks to hide the involuntary smile. It was the same question as always—and yet, it meant something a little different today.

"No, I hate them."

Even so, Wilhelm's answer didn't change. There was nothing to be gained by looking at plants. Certainly not the things that mattered to Wilhelm.

"Oh? If that's the case—"

Normally it stopped with the question and the answer. But today it didn't. Holding the hem of her skirt, Theresia turned away from him, so Wilhelm couldn't see her expression.

"—Why do you wield your sword?"

"—" She had never asked this question before.

In the three months they had known each other, there had always been flowers and a sword. But until this moment, Theresia had not once broached the subject of his weapon. Now that she knew his name, she was trying to find out what was inside of Wilhelm.

If it wasn't Theresia asking, if it had been anyone else, Wilhelm would have simply pushed them away. But he found he could answer her with an unusually calm heart.

"…Because this is all I have."

The question was about his sword. Why he wielded it. In his heart, the answer was very simple—it was all he had. This was what Wilhelm, more than anyone else, had come to believe.

"—"

Theresia was silent, saying nothing in response to Wilhelm's answer. Just as she said nothing to his answer to her flower question. She talked too much and flitted from topic to topic, but she always repeated this one unchanging question, as though she were trying to solidify their tenuous relationship.

Wilhelm, too, kept quiet. He was not so foolish as to offend the moment by speaking.

I never thought you would actually come.

Grimm, his eyes wide, scrawled the words on a piece of paper as he sat up in bed, and showed the paper to Wilhelm.

They were in Grimm's room at the Royal Hospital, although it was actually a very large area full of injured people. One could tell how busy the hospital was from the number of beds with patients in them.

"Just on a whim. I was on my way to do something else," Wilhelm answered tersely. He stood beside Grimm's sickbed with his arms crossed.

It was close to a miracle that, after parting ways with Theresia, he had found his feet pointing him toward a visit to Grimm. He was telling the truth —it was nothing more than a whim. It was his first day off duty, and just going to his room to sleep would serve no purpose. That was all there was to this.

"Anyway, your woman will never leave me alone if I don't." Please don't talk about Carol that way.

"…This writing is a pain. Can't you do anything about it?"

It took Grimm time to respond to anything Wilhelm said. Paper for holding these conversations was not an abundant resource, either. Grimm kept using one sheet until it was almost completely black with letters.

In the face of Wilhelm's annoyance, Grimm gave a pathetic smile and pointed to his throat. A long white scar ran across it, a sign of the damage to his speech organs. He could make a scratchy sound with his breath, but he would never speak again.

I was at least lucky to escape with my life.

"…Given that we were fighting Libre, you probably were." Where's Carol?

"What, you think we're friendly enough to show up here together? Don't make me laugh."

He really had come here on an absolute whim. Just the thought of bringing Carol along, someone whose company he didn't enjoy in the least, was enough to make him choke. Encountering her was something he dearly wanted to avoid.

"I'm not visiting again. You make sure she knows I was here, okay?" I've got it. I'll tell her.

That helped him relax a little, at least. Now maybe he wouldn't have to worry about Carol coming around to harangue him. If she had left him alone, he never would have bothered coming to see Grimm.

How's the captain doing?

"It's like he's possessed by the ghost of Pivot. I don't like it. 'Do this. Kill the demi-humans.' That's all you ever hear from him these days.

Supposedly things have quieted down recently, but he's only gotten louder."

Apparently Bordeaux had come to visit once as well but had quickly left again on business. The royal army was in total chaos, and the commanders had a lot on their plates. Bordeaux was no exception.

"—"

Suddenly, Grimm stopped writing and gazed into the distance. Wilhelm recognized the expression. It was the way Grimm had looked at the royal army's cemetery, when they had said their last farewells to their fallen comrades. Wilhelm knew that he was lost in his memories of all those in Zergev Squadron who had died at Aihiya.

Wilhelm, arms still crossed, walked over to the window and thought back to the swamp himself. He had ruminated on that battle many, many times— always so that he wouldn't forget his rage at the unresolved conflict with Libre or at Sphinx, who had stolen that chance from him.

This time, though, was different. This time, Wilhelm thought back to a different moment in the battle…

"…Why did they protect me?"

He remembered Pivot, who had given his life taking a blow meant for Wilhelm. He remembered all the others, who had stood against Libre at Pivot's dying command and been cut down themselves.

Grimm, too. He was among those who had faced Libre in Wilhelm's place, and for his trouble he had received a wound he would bear forever and lost his voice.

He didn't understand why. None of them had had a hope of winning. If the effect of the magic circle had continued, Wilhelm probably also would have met his doom there. What meaning could there have been in their actions?

"You, all of you, challenged a foe you could never beat. Pivot died, all of you died, and I—"

If it hadn't been for Sphinx's intervention, Wilhelm would have died, too. And if he had, all of Zergev Squadron's sacrifices would have been for nothing. And then—

There was a quiet noise from behind him.

"—"

"Are you…laughing?"

As Wilhelm looked down at him, Grimm was reacting in an unusual way. His shoulders shook, his breath scratched from his throat, and he made a sound like he was coughing. It almost looked like laughter.

This totally unexpected answer left Wilhelm at a loss. Grimm took up his writing utensils.

I'm sorry for laughing. I never thought you'd respond that way.

"That's my line. I never took you for the type to find matters of life and death funny."

Me neither. I didn't think Pivot's death or the deaths of our comrades meant anything to you. And to think you're even upset that no one is blaming you…

"—?!" Wilhelm reached the end of what Grimm had written, and the unbelievable sentence immediately made him angry. But Grimm shook his head.

Nobody blames you, Wilhelm. My wounds and Pivot's death are not your fault. I'm sure the captain doesn't hold you responsible for Pivot, either.

It was the truth. Each time they saw each other, Wilhelm could tell how different Bordeaux was. Yet he never spoke ill of Wilhelm nor blamed him for Pivot's death. Nor did Grimm consider Wilhelm to be the reason he'd lost his voice. Knowing as much should have been a relief to him. Should have been.

Wilhelm. You're the sword of our Zergev Squadron. If you aren't defeated, we won't be, either. Everyone believed that, and that's why they put their lives on the line.

"You're making things up. My sword is mine, and I am my own."

That's true. I guess that's enough. Your intense way of living is yours alone. Well, it was—but it isn't anymore.

"I don't know what you mean."

Your way of living is an ideal. Describing it in words makes it sound cheap and thin, but only those who have really dedicated themselves can live like you. The rest of us couldn't do it.

Wilhelm couldn't quite grasp Grimm's emotion as he poured the letters onto the page. Wilhelm had always hated when people said they couldn't do something. Above all, he hated the look in a person's eye when they said it. He despised the look of people who thought they were making a smart choice as they gave up and made excuses.

But nothing in Grimm's expression as he looked at Wilhelm was anything like that. He was saying he couldn't. He was making excuses. His face was that of a man who had given up. Yet his eyes were neither resigned nor regretful. Wilhelm found Grimm's gaze very unsettling.

Wilhelm, I've always admired your strength. When we saw Tholter as an undead warrior at Castour Field, I could tell how different you and I were, and I thought you were amazing. So did everyone in the squadron. It's hard to see from a distance what makes you special. But up close, you can tell.

"…Don't go giving me a weird reputation."

Sorry. But you tend to do whatever you want to, you know. Maybe us independent types just tend to run into each other. I have high hopes for how far you can go.

How far could he go? He could swing his sword, become a sword—and where would he end up? He finally understood the inexplicable emotion he saw in Grimm's eyes. It was expectation and hope. It was envy toward someone he knew could keep going, even though Grimm himself had given up.

I would have liked to tell you, at least once, before I lost my voice. I guess it's a little late for that.

"—"

Thank you for that time. Thanks to you, I'm here now.

Grimm spoke all this without a word, then bowed his head toward Wilhelm with a smile. It was unmistakably a smile of brotherhood. Wilhelm could hardly bear it.

"Do you like flowers?"

"No, I hate them."

"Why do you wield your sword?" "Because this is all I have."

After he had learned Theresia's name, after Grimm had confessed his envy, things went on without any real change. The royal army was still moving slowly, and with the reorganization yet ongoing, he continued to wield his blade on behalf of the capital's police force. When he wasn't doing that, he was in the plaza having his absurd conversations with Theresia.

The questions about flowers and why he wielded his sword became an immutable touchstone for them. Wilhelm's answers and Theresia's reactions never changed, either.

Or rather, they weren't supposed to. But at some point Wilhelm noticed how the exchanges made him ache. He did still feel the same way about flowers—there was no way that would ever change. But being asked about his sword hurt his heart. Each time, the question made him uneasy and irritated. His chest throbbed with the emotions Pivot had shown him at Aihiya, as had Grimm in his hospital room.

"Wilhelm…you're staring at me. Is something wrong?"

"No…nothing."

"Oh? You shouldn't look too intently at a woman's face, then. It's rude."

"What? Don't you think you have a face worth looking at?"

"Wha? Wh-what does that mean…?"

"—?"

"Why do you act like you don't know what I mean?!" she said. "Don't you know how to have a conversation?"

He also started to notice that talking with Theresia in the square gave him the same sense of calm as swinging his sword. And finally, he saw that he was no longer able to lose himself in his sword practice the way he once had. Just swinging the sword should have been enough for him, but now, facing that blade made it hard for him to breathe. It was almost as if he was—

"It's as if your sword is crying."

"—!" He had been swinging his blade out of sheer habit when Theresia said this. Instantly, Wilhelm felt a storm of emotion; he whirled on Theresia and glared at her.

"…Wh-what's wrong?" she asked.

"You—! What do you know about my sword…?!"

His unfocused pain had found an outlet. Wilhelm regretted the words, but they couldn't be taken back. Theresia frowned and said, "Wilhelm…you're right. I'm not qualified to talk about swords. But I can see by looking at you that using your blade right now is hurting you."

"Don't act like you understand. Nothing's hurting me. I—"

"If it's that painful, why don't you stop?"

"Stop…?"

He frowned; he had never so much as thought the word.

Right, Theresia nodded. "If you really hate it, there's no point in going on. It might seem irresponsible, but why keep going if you have to destroy your own heart to do it? Or…" She paused and looked at Wilhelm, who stood bolt upright. "…Does it mean something else you, to pour yourself into your sword like that?" Something beyond the sword itself, she meant.

She asked as though it were the same question she always asked, but it wasn't.

Wilhelm wielded his sword because the sword was all he had. But the meaning of it—what was it that drove Wilhelm Trias to do so?

"Even I don't know the answer to that," he said.

"In that case—"

"But putting it down would be unforgivable."

This time it was Theresia's turn to fall silent. He couldn't be allowed to put down his sword. What he wanted didn't figure into it.

"Unforgivable? So…you mean to go on using your sword forever, no matter how much it hurts you? No matter how painful it is?"

"That's right. I don't have to know why I'm doing it. I just have to." Wilhelm had no way of finding any other answer than that, anything other than the sword. He grabbed hold of the hilt of his weapon as if clinging to a lifeline. Theresia exhaled when she saw it.

"I see. So there was a meaning. To keeping you alive."

"A meaning to keeping me alive…?"

He was stunned by the words. They almost suggested that she knew about Pivot and all the people of Zergev Squadron, and how he had been saved from death. But he didn't see it in her eyes. Two clear blue irises looked at him.

"Yes," she said. "As much pain as it causes you, you can't let your sword go. I…" Theresia looked down, her expression sad. Wilhelm noticed the change but was unable to give an immediate response. Her words were still ringing in his ears.

"I hope you find it," she said. "Your reason."

"My…reason…?"

He wondered if perhaps those words might, in truth, be the key to resolving the problem in his heart. Then again, he could have told her it wasn't so easy and not to say such stupid things. But Wilhelm didn't do either of these.

"Yeah," he answered. "If I even have one." He nodded at Theresia.

It was the meaning of letting him live, the reason Pivot and the others gave themselves up, the answer to Grimm's envy. Or perhaps the thing that would turn Wilhelm into steel once and for all.

"Don't worry," Theresia said. "I'm sure you'll find it. You of all people can do it." She had no basis for saying so, but she smiled gently. And Wilhelm, for some reason, found himself unable to argue.

The chance to find his answer was coming, as if Theresia's words had summoned it. It would be a great battle that Wilhelm Trias, the Sword Devil, could not avoid.

A critical moment in the Demi-human War, a bloodbath at Lugunica Castle, would soon arrive.

THE LOVE SONG OF THE SWORD DEVIL

Sixth Stanza

A mass uprising of the demi-humans all throughout the kingdom engulfed the nation in the fires of war.

The royal army, still reeling from their earlier losses, was put on the defensive by the armed uprising of demi-humans and the mass of undead warriors who accompanied them. As casualty reports flooded in, army headquarters was thrown into chaos, and the defense of each region was left to those in charge on the ground.

"That's the general gist of what I'm hearing, anyway, but I haven't gotten any details," Bordeaux said quietly. "If they had put us out there somewhere, we might at least have been able to help prevent some casualties."

Zergev Squadron, fully armored, was gathered at a guard station. The members present were the newcomers, the ones who had helped fill out the squadron after its old cohort had been so cruelly reduced. With the reorganization ongoing, official reassignment papers hadn't yet been issued, but everyone he had spoken to ahead of time had come. Among them, of course, were Grimm, now out of the hospital, and Wilhelm.

"Grimm!" Bordeaux said. "You might've lost your voice, but I hope you can still fight like you used to! This is your chance to show us what you've got."

Grimm could say nothing to this attempt to inspire morale, but he pounded his shield in response. Bordeaux nodded at the display of spirit, then gazed out of the guard station. "I expect we'll be dispatched to the nearest battlefield soon. Frankly, I'd like to rush out there right now, but it's worth remembering that the bigger they get, the slower they are."

As Bordeaux counseled patience, Wilhelm was silently readying himself

for battle. He would meet the oncoming fight with the overwhelming spirit of the Sword Devil. On the field, in the midst of a life-and-death struggle—he could forget the confusion he felt about fields of flowers. Where the sparks of life flew in sprays of blood, his spirit could give itself wholly to the sword, and he didn't need to feel lost…

"An armed uprising, though," Bordeaux said dispassionately, still looking out the window. "That's a bold move. Valga Cromwell came up with it, I'm sure, but I have to admire how he was able to get all the demi-humans in on it." He ran a hand through his short hair and frowned grimly. "But unfortunately for him, the capital was too vigilant for his plan to work here. The rest of the country may be burning, but he missed the most important part.

I guess that's all you can expect from a bunch of stupid savages."

His words reflected more than a little of his personal animus, but Wilhelm largely agreed with him. Rebellions had occurred all over the nation, but the capital alone was untouched.

Wilhelm had spent several years in the capital now, even if he hadn't especially wanted to. He didn't want to see the city turned into a battlefield, nor did he desire all the casualties that would result. Including Theresia and her field of flowers…

"Wait." This felt wrong to Wilhelm. And not in the depths of his heart as Theresia had revealed to him. Something was off. And one word Bordeaux had used brought it together.

"Burning…?"

Wilhelm had heard something very similar recently. He wracked his memory, trying to recall when it had been—then bolted immediately to his feet.

Soon tongues of flame will lick the whole nation… Even the capital will not escape destruction.

The words belonged to one of the demi-human vandals he had apprehended. Of course, they could be dismissed as bravado—but it had also described Valga Cromwell's plan.

The capital was a volatile place. Wilhelm knew that from his time with the local constabulary. Would Valga ignore his potential allies here and leave the capital out of his plans?

It's not possible. He wouldn't forget this city.

Which had to mean the uprisings were—

"Bordeaux! All these uprisings are just a diversion! The real target is the capital—the royal castle!"

"What?!"

After Wilhelm's intuition led him to the answer, he ran up to Bordeaux, his voice ragged. A dark look came across his commander's craggy face.

It angered him, but he was sure. He knew the enemy would seek the royal forces' most vital point.

"Think back to Castour and Aihiya! The battles where the royal forces suffered their worst losses! Both times, we went for the obvious bait and fell right into Valga Cromwell's traps!"

"And that makes you think these uprisings are a decoy, while the real aim is the heart of the kingdom?"

"Yes! You know this, Bordeaux! We dispatch soldiers from the capital to put down the rebellions, then they concentrate their forces on the undefended capital. They'll conquer the kingdom!"

Depending on how things went, the choice the squadron made now could determine the future of the Dragonfriend Kingdom of Lugunica. They had no sure proof, but Wilhelm trusted his instincts. If he hadn't trusted those same instincts on the battlefield, he would never have survived to see this day.

"Hmm." Bordeaux crossed his arms and assumed a look of deep contemplation. Wilhelm could only grind his teeth.

The same thing had happened before. At the Battle of Castour Field, when they had encountered the first magic circles and had been trying to decide what to do with them, Wilhelm had urged the captain then to push forward. He had said it was the only way to survive. But his opinion had been overruled, and he and Grimm had ended up the last living members of their unit.

The same thing was happening again now. If Bordeaux wouldn't listen to him, then even if Wilhelm had to go alone, he would—

Someone patted the increasingly agitated Wilhelm on the shoulder. He turned around to see Grimm nodding at him and raising his hand to Bordeaux.

The commander noticed the gesture. He stared at Wilhelm and Grimm. Then he gave a deep nod, and a wide grin, the first they'd seen in a long time, came over his face.

"Well, how about that? Leaving Zergev Squadron to stew in the capital might turn out to be headquarters' smartest move! Now things are getting interesting!"

Bordeaux slammed the butt of his halberd against the floor. The metallic noise rang throughout the guard station, and all the members of Zergev Squadron responded with one voice. "Yeeeaaahhhh!"

In an instant, everyone was eager for battle, the room shaking with their cry. The noise surrounded Wilhelm, but he wasn't caught up in it. Bordeaux, resting his halberd on his shoulder, grinned at the swordsman.

"What's wrong, Captain Killer? You don't look yourself."

"We've got no proof. You're going to trust me?"

"The final decision is mine, and I'm not going to let anyone stop me. Plus…my instincts agree with yours. Let's shred this demi-human plan—call it a parting gift to Pivot and the others!"

Bordeaux gave Wilhelm a shove in the chest; Wilhelm stumbled backward until Grimm caught him. The silent shield bearer smiled at him in a way that seemed to ask, How about that? Wilhelm waved him away.

"All right, here we go! Zergev Squadron is the sword of the kingdom! That makes it our duty to bring justice to any barbarians who would go

against the flag of our nation! Anyone disagree? Anyone object?"

"No! No one! How could we?"

Bordeaux gave a shout, raising his battle-ax, and the soldiers shouted back. Their leader listened to them with satisfaction, then turned to Wilhelm again.

"Wilhelm! Wilhelm Trias, the Sword Devil! The enemy is after—?"

"What else?" Wilhelm answered. "The castle—the royal castle of Lugunica!"

Bordeaux pointed his ax at the distant castle. Then he sucked in a breath and howled like an animal. "The enemy is closing in on the castle! Zergev Squadron, move out!"

As Zergev Squadron approached the castle ready for battle, the castle's defenders prepared themselves to die. They were sure the murderous-looking mass of soldiers approaching them was an enemy contingent bent on their destruction.

"What? What's this?! Is this how defenders of the realm comport themselves?!" a knight shouted at the trembling men. The cruel-looking knight stared down the onrushing squadron, then gave a disdainful click of his tongue.

"Well, if it isn't that idiotic stray… Halt where you are, Bordeaux

Zergev!"

"Is that Lord Lyp Bariel?" Bordeaux called back, gaping at the man who stood in the midst of the defending soldiers. It was the viscount, the same knight they had encountered at Aihiya Swamp.

Zergev Squadron came to a standstill. Lyp moved to stand in front of Bordeaux.

"Don't you know we're at war, Bordeaux? What do you think you're doing?! The kingdom is in crisis, and you're playing pranks? This is practically rebellion!"

"I apologize for startling you all. But we aren't here on a friendly visit.

Time is of the essence—the fate of the kingdom hangs in the balance!"

"Oh, it does, does it?"

Lyp frowned at Bordeaux's declaration. Then someone stepped forward out of the battle-ready crowd to stand beside Bordeaux. It was Wilhelm. Lyp looked at the young man who radiated a swordsman's aura, clearly displeased.

"You again, Sword Devil."

"Call me what you like. I have no time to argue with you. The enemy is targeting this castle."

"You mean to say the armed uprisings are a diversion? Do you have any proof?"

Lyp was nothing if not intelligent. From Wilhelm's curt remark, he had guessed what the demi-humans were really up to. But the only way they could respond to his request for certainty was with a shake of their heads.

"So on the basis of an educated guess, you descend upon the castle like an avalanche?" Lyp said. "I request you withdraw, Zergev Squadron. At present, the defense of this castle is my responsibility."

"Valga, Libre, and Sphinx," Wilhelm said. "You mean to take them all on yourself? You must be pretty confident."

"Again? How many times must I tell you not to talk back to your superiors!"

With a sharp tsk, Lyp lashed out at Wilhelm with his metal gauntlet. But whereas the blow had landed at Aihiya Swamp, this time Wilhelm simply turned his head and avoided it easily.

"Who gave you permission to dodge me—?"

"At Aihiya, you were my commanding officer, but not now. You have no reason to strike me and no reason to stop us. If you get in our way, we'll just push past you."

Wilhelm rattled the hilt of his sword pointedly. The other castle guards cowered at his spirit, which hit them almost like a physical force. Even Lyp looked somewhat cowed for once. The situation seemed set to explode at any moment.

"Weeell, then," a new voice said. "How about an order from me? I rank higher than any of you. I officially command Zergev Squadron to join in the castle's defense."

The woman's voice came from the direction of the castle. The collective gaze turned to see two figures approaching—Roswaal, dressed in her military outfit, and her attendant Carol.

"Roswaal J. Mathers…!" Lyp gasped.

"So we have the war's anti-magic specialist—that's me—and a selfindulgent gate guard—that's you. Shaaall we compare our positions to see which of us ranks higher in your precious chain of command?"

Lyp ground his teeth angrily, but Roswaal only shrugged. What she was saying was completely true, and the reality was as pitiless as a snake. As much as he hated it, Lyp could only shut his mouth.

"Ohhh, don't be like that. All isn't lost. Being here today may yet give you your chance to bring honor and glory to your name. Consider all the possibilities." Her words weren't much consolation, but they effectively took Lyp out of the equation.

Then Roswaal spotted Wilhelm. She brushed her hair back behind her shoulders, smiling sweetly. "I kneeew you'd be here. It was the right choice to focus on all of you—well, on you specifically—at Castour."

"I still don't understand a word you're saying," Wilhelm said. "But we can come into the castle, right?"

"You could at leeeast learn how to talk to a woman. Of course you can come in."

Wilhelm told her, as bluntly as always, that he had no interest in lengthy talk. Then he turned to Bordeaux. The man known as the Mad Dog nodded gravely.

"Aaall right, then! Zergev Squadron will now enter the castle! Make sure we reinforce all the crucial points in the building! We'll split into ten groups, just as we planned." He pounded the ground with the butt of his battle-ax, and Zergev Squadron separated into ten groups. They would shortly assume their assigned roles and set themselves to the complete defense of the castle.

"Lord Lyp," Bordeaux said, "you stay here. Zergev Squadron will patrol the inside. Make sure you don't let any demi-humans inside the gate."

"—! I know my business! We wouldn't let a fly in here. Now get lost, you pack of mongrels!" The viscount was not a very gracious loser. Nonetheless, Wilhelm and the others trooped into the castle. Roswaal came trotting behind them with obvious interest.

"The unit's split into groups," she said. "Can I assuuume you will act on your own regardless?"

"You've got Grimm to keep an eye on you," Wilhelm said. "You'd only be trouble, anyway." He spared a backward glance. It was an act of kindness on his part toward the wordless Grimm, who walked alongside Carol.

Apparently, they were capable of having a conversation when only one of them could actually talk. Wilhelm scoffed a little at that.

As the members of Zergev Squadron walked through the castle, they found hallways silent and rooms abandoned. "Looks like you're short on soldiers," Wilhelm muttered. This was the first time he had been in the royal castle of Lugunica since he had been invited to the meeting at general headquarters. That day, the castle had been stuffed with more people than it needed, but now it was practically empty.

"After the losses at Aihiya, the command staff has been dispatched to battle lines all over the country," Roswaal said. "And His Majesty personally ordered that troops be sent where the impact of the rebellions is greatest."

"But that's—"

"A royal command is nooot something you can ignore. Not eeeven if it plays into the enemy's hands."

Lugunica's royal family were a sympathetic lot, but they were figureheads unsuited to national government. So much was widely rumored—and it seemed there was some basis for it.

"So there's no one protecting the castle?"

"A minimal contingent of the royal guard and defense units like Lord Lyp's. That's about it, I suppose. I admire His Majesty's refuuusal to prioritize his own safety, but it's just a sliiight problem when he occupies the most crucial building in the nation. Perhaps it's time to start praying to the

Dragon for the kingdom's peace."

"I might admire your patriotism if you didn't end by saying we need to beg for help. But—wait."

Wilhelm's intuition was nagging at him again. If the demi-humans were after the castle, then their ultimate goal would be the heart of the kingdom— the king himself. And after causing the uprisings, they had a sure way of capturing their target. There was one place the king of the Dragonfriend Kingdom of Lugunica was certain to go when his country was in dire straits.

It was almost as if Valga Cromwell was inviting him there.

Bordeaux was heading upstairs. "Wilhelm! I'm going to go protect His Majesty! The throne room—"

Wilhelm cut him off with his own view of things. "Bordeaux! I'm going to the chapel! Objections?!"

Bordeaux looked startled at the way everything about Wilhelm suggested that he was going to follow his own instincts, but then he grinned.

"None at all! Whatever happens, just don't forget what Zergev Squadron stands for!"

"You know I never gave a damn about that."

"Then we should ask Grimm. Grimm! Don't let Wilhelm out of your sight!"

The vigorous pounding of a shield came in answer. Wilhelm frowned. Bordeaux hefted his battle-ax, wished them luck, and rushed off.

"What are you going to do?" Wilhelm asked Roswaal, who apparently intended to follow him down to the castle's basement chapel. "Why are you with us, anyway?"

Roswaal winked. "I have my own objective. Wheeether it will show up here is a biiig gamble, but I think I'll trust the judgment of the man I'm head over heels for."

Grimm and Carol exchanged astonished looks at Roswaal's teasing words. But Wilhelm, the man in question, only gave a thoroughly exasperated cluck and shifted away from Roswaal.

"Don't come whining to me if you get killed," he said. "I'm not nice enough to be looking behind me while I'm trying to fight."

"…I think you've changed, though. You wouldn't have said that befooore."

"Me? Changed? Even if I have—"

Even if he had, it was only to advance along the path to becoming an unfeeling sword. It was, he believed, the answer he had found in his blade.

Wilhelm gritted his teeth and forced away the image of Theresia that floated through his mind. If she hadn't kept asking him, he would have stopped believing it long ago. He dashed forward, as if to escape the fact.

When Bordeaux entered the audience chamber, he could physically feel the air thicken. It was the tingling sensation of a great battle about to begin—a confrontation with an absolute opponent. He had been right to come here alone. He suspected only he among his men could bear this.

"I'll never be able to thank Wilhelm enough," he muttered. Although they rarely fought now, his duels with Wilhelm on the training ground had accustomed him to such an overwhelming aura of battle. He was frightened, yes, but the fear was familiar.

There were few opponents whom Bordeaux would recognize as genuinely stronger than himself. It wasn't just that he hated to admit it. He was, in fact, a tremendous fighter. He had been around weapons since he had been a boy and had used his natural physique and intellect to pursue the path of a knight. Between his family's social standing and his own gifts, Bordeaux's life went almost exactly as he would have wished. Accompanied by other disciples who seemed like annoying older brothers, the wind had always seemed to be at his back as he advanced day by day.

A change had come into his life in the form of Wilhelm. Bordeaux could remember many times he had been at a loss as to how to handle the impertinent and rebellious boy. But Bordeaux had saved Wilhelm, which was enough to justify all the work.

Wilhelm had gone from a boy to a young man, and his sword had become indispensable to the kingdom. Pivot had understood that. It was why he had given his life to save him. Pivot had seen that Wilhelm would be essential in determining not just the kingdom's future, but Bordeaux's.

And here, now, Wilhelm's presence did indeed make the difference between life and death for Bordeaux.

A twin blade came at the hulking man, dyeing the audience chamber's red carpet even darker with blood as it did. His enemy's eyes were lifeless, his putrid breath ragged. It was the snake-man, Libre Fermi, but with no hint of who he had been in life. Yet even as an undead warrior, his aura of the greatest demi-human fighter remained.

"No Sphinx, eh? But at least I can get revenge for Pivot. You dirty little reptile!" Bordeaux inflamed his own lust for battle by taunting his enemy. Otherwise, he might have been swept away by the enemy's aura and lost the initiative.

The difference between them—in the power of their spirits as warriors— was unmistakable. The reason Bordeaux did not succumb was because he had already been on the losing end of such exchanges dozens of times. Wilhelm Trias had acquainted him with it more than well enough.

"I'm not about to be intimidated by an enemy who's on the back foot.

Have at, Libre Fermi!"

He spun his battle-ax above his head and howled like an animal, stomping across the carpet. His huge body sprang forward, and the snake-man met him with the twin blade. Sparks flew, and the room filled with the ringing of steel on steel. The battle between the Viper and the Mad Dog had begun.

In front of the huge door of the chapel lay the headless bodies of several royal guards. They were the few that remained to provide security for the castle. They had fought valiantly but futilely, as evidenced by the weapons that lay scattered around and the array of sword marks. Usually, Wilhelm felt he had no sympathy to spare for the dead—that was, the weak. But this time, he found a strange emotion welling up within him. Perhaps it was because he knew what these corpses had been fighting for.

"—"

He cut the emotion off, and with his beloved sword in hand, Wilhelm opened the massive door. It moved slowly with a great creak, and a fresh breeze blew from the chapel into the hallway.

Magical, bluish-white lights illuminated the chapel in the basement of the castle. It was a place of grandeur and solemnity. On either side of the entrance ran rows of benches, and the crest of the Holy Dragon, the crest of the nation, was carved in the far wall. And at the altar, where prayers were offered to that carving, stood two figures.

The figures, one huge and one a small girl, spoke in hoarse voices.

"In this chapel, the people of the kingdom pray to the Dragon," the larger shadow said. "Empires worship power, and holy kingdoms worship the spirits. I don't know about the western city states, but I suppose they must have someone who offers up prayers."

"So then, what do you all pray for?" the girl asked. "What do demihumans pray for, and to whom?"

"Hmm. If I were to pray, I suppose it would be to the souls of my comrades and ancestors. I, at least, have no other reason to pray." Then the two figures turned around.

The girl, of course, he knew well by now. It was the witch Sphinx. And the giant standing next to her—he was the greatest enemy in this war, the leader of the demi-human tribes…

"Valga Cromwell."

The man nodded when Wilhelm spoke his name, but Wilhelm couldn't see his expression. Valga had wrapped himself entirely in a white sheet, as though he was trying to hide his identity at this late stage.

"Indeed I am. And you must be the Sword Devil. Yes, I see… The hostility in your face radiates an exceptional spirit. Even I am not immune to it, and battle is my everything. No wonder you were able to kill Libre."

"What are you talking about?" Such a description of the outcome at Aihiya could only be intended to humiliate him.

The witch, who had twisted the facts in her report, ignored the Sword Devil's gaze and focused on Roswaal. "If you are here…it must mean the king isn't coming." Her voice was emotionless.

Roswaal, her hands encased in metal gloves, responded, "I didn't have any special reason to tag along. I just haaated the thought of giving you what you wanted. I reject everything about you, and I will eventually stamp out your life under my heel." She gave a wave of her wrist and assumed a fighting stance with more flourish than was strictly necessary. Behind her, Carol drew her sword, and Grimm readied his shield.

"Brave people, all of you," Valga said. "For the four of you to try to stand against us…"

"No, that would be the two of you, coming into the heart of the castle," Wilhelm retorted. "Too bad for you, one of your friends has loose lips and gave away the surprise. We're putting an end to this, here and now."

"…I thought I had taken the utmost care in whom I told about my plans, but I see someone found himself talkative at the prospect of death. Never mind. I will not bear a grudge against a fellow demi-human. We've made it this far. Our plan is going well enough."

"True, to the extent that you were able to sneak into the castle. What were those stupid guards doing?"

"We took a hidden pathway through the sewers. No one knows of it now —you humans don't live long enough to remember."

Valga stamped his heel against the ground, opening a hidden tunnel. Perhaps he was so frank about it because Wilhelm had explained how he knew Valga's plan. Someone gave an involuntary click of the tongue.

"Back before the covenant with the Dragon, demi-humans were among those who helped construct this castle. Trying to speculate about the relations between humans and demi-humans in those days is a fool's errand, but it is rather ironic. It was those times that allowed this moment of reprisal."

"Nice talk, but bad troop choices," Wilhelm said. "The way I hear it, you're only good in a battle of wits, not a contest of arms. Apparently, your witch there is the only one with real fighting power."

"…Yes. As I am now, I suppose that is true." Valga's voice grew quiet.

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow at this portentous whisper, and the demihuman gave a rumbling laugh.

"If all had gone as I wished, the king would be here now. In order to reach him, I would have had no choice but to defeat the royal guard. Do you think I came unprepared for that task?"

"You never do anything the simple way."

"You are an emotionless man, aren't you?" Valga said curtly. Then he turned to his companion. "Sphinx, the spell."

Sphinx looked up at the huge man beside her and cocked her head. "Are you sure? Once I begin, it will be difficult to stop. Impossible, in fact."

"I don't care. I knew all along that if I wanted to properly avenge my comrades, I wouldn't return alive!" With a bellow, Valga tore away the sheet that was covering him. Hidden underneath was an old man with a bald head and a face like a demon. But his armor-like muscles, a unique trait of the giants, showed no age. His body was like a sheer cliff, and drawn on it was a purple sigil that began to glow—a magic circle.

"A magic circle on a living body?!" Carol exclaimed. "What kind of spell is this?!"

"I told you," Valga said gravely. "You humans pray to your dragon. I will pray to my ancestors and my fellow demi-humans."

The spell began to take effect on his aged flesh, and as the glow intensified, Valga pulled something out of a pouch—a small box.

"O bones of my forefathers, testament to the days when the giants were truly feared…!"

"The Sacrament of the Immortal King cannot construct an undead warrior from a pile of bones," Sphinx said. "But with a living descendent who shares the same blood and a tremendous amount of mana, things are different."

"You think you're going to bring back the old giants using the body of Valga Cromwell?!" Wilhelm said.

"The pride and the anger of the demi-humans you shall see with your eyes, feel with your flesh, and carve into your souls, damnable humans!" Valga shouted, and then he shoved the bones into his own chest. Immediately, Sphinx's ritual, amplified by the magic circle drawn on his body, did its awful work.

"Hrrraahh— Ahhhh— Ahhhhhhhh!"

Valga's howling voice got louder and louder, and the body it came from grew larger and larger. His lungs expanded as his body swelled to twice its original size, then twice again. Seconds later, the light of the spell faded.

Carol's trembling voice filled the chapel as she stared up at the looming form: "Is—is this what the giants used to be? You're nothing but a monster…!" Her words carried no small amount of terror. No one could have blamed her for it. Valga's head now reached the ceiling; he was easily more than thirty feet tall. He had grown so much, in fact, that he had to kneel to fit in the chapel.

Suddenly, the huge form stretched out its arm. The movement was nonchalant, yet it occurred with a violent quickness.

"Look out!" Wilhelm shouted, dodging to one side of the incoming fist. Roswaal was able to avoid it as well, while Grimm faced the blow head-on and protected Carol. Trying his best to judge where to hold his shield, Grimm took an impact like that of a rampaging animal. Instantaneously, he and Carol were both launched backward out the door and into the hallway.

"Oh no—!"

"That idiot threw himself backward to blunt the impact! But never mind that—here comes Valga!" Wilhelm called to the worried Roswaal. He refocused with his blade in hand and stared at Valga, whose battle aura had grown with him, and at Sphinx, who was floating in the air.

The witch paid his glare no mind, looking up at the ceiling the giant had shattered. "Valga, perhaps I could leave this to you? I believe the next step will require going elsewhere."

"Do what you want. As for me, I'll take revenge for Libre."

"So be it, then. Valga, I require your good fortune in battle."

"Right. I appreciate your help. Although I'm not sure about all the details."

Sphinx, given leave, cocked her head at Valga's parting words. But then the witch floated up through the destroyed ceiling without saying anything further.

"Sphinx…!" Roswaal shouted angrily.

Wilhelm gestured to the hallway with his sword. "You follow the witch.

Bring those kids catnapping in the corridor."

Roswaal's eyes widened with a glance at Valga's hulking form.

"You mean to take Valga on alone? Like that? I don't think thaaat's possible, do you?"

"We can't let the witch get away. And you're not going to fight Valga with your fists or a shield. Carol specializes in deflecting things with her blade, and that won't help, either. You have to get in there and cut him down. He's mine."

Wilhelm, his sword now pointed once more at the giant, exuded an immense battle aura.

"You really are something. If we both make it back safely, I might practically kiss you."

"Forget the creepy chatter and just go."

"So cold, though. Perhaps your heart belongs to someone else?" Roswaal said, ignoring the circumstances long enough to tease Wilhelm. He only snorted. He certainly wasn't going to tell her that, just for an instant, the image of a red-haired girl had flashed through his mind.

"Best of luck," Roswaal said.

"Yeah. You be sure to kill her."

With these deadly words, the two vowed to fight, and then Roswaal retreated quickly from the chapel. Wilhelm assumed she had grabbed their two companions from the hallway and gone upstairs to battle Sphinx.

Whether or not the three of them could best the witch depended on them.

Wilhelm didn't realize that this was, in its own way, a kind of trust.

"I don't have time to be worrying about anyone else, anyway," he muttered, sinking into a fighting stance.

"Don't overestimate yourself, boy," Valga replied. "Do you think one as lowly as yourself can really stop me from getting what I want?" He made a sweep with one gigantic arm. The Sword Devil dodged it, trusting in his own skills. The corners of his mouth turned up.

"If you're strong enough, you'll get by me. If you're weak, I'll crush you. That's all there is to it. The strength of your ideals has nothing to do with it."

He stepped in and brought the ax down with all his might. One end of the twin blade caught the blow and then cracked under a force that it couldn't withstand. The ax bit into the serpent's body, sending scales and blood flying. Libre reeled backward.

"Grraaahhhhhh!!" Though the wounded creature made not a sound, Bordeaux flew at him with a cry. He swung the heavy battle-ax like an extension of his arms, cutting with the blade and following up with the hilt. The undead warrior that had once been Libre resisted these attacks with all the skill that was still left in him.

He dodged, defending with the twin blade. Bordeaux was thrown off balance, and a strike found him. It grazed his shoulder and abdomen, but Bordeaux held his ground despite the flow of blood.

This was without a doubt the strongest opponent he had ever faced. It was hard to believe that this was how he fought, even with his lessened capabilities as an undead warrior. The thought of what Libre must have been while alive made Bordeaux shudder—whether from fear or a lust for battle, he didn't know.

"My blood! My blood boils, Libre Fermi!"

Whichever it was, at this moment he told himself it was the urge to fight. Despite being drenched in blood, Bordeaux continued to shout; he looked into Libre's lightless eyes. The serpent showed no reaction to the yell and only twirled the twin blade in his hand to continue the battle.

It was a deadly dance as Libre Fermi's twin blade began a ballet that was sure to kill.

"Hrrgh— Yaaaaaahhhh!"

Bordeaux's heart quailed at the storm of blows. But as he was driven back, he could feel the trembling from below through the soles of his boots. They were the shocks of a tremendous battle, and imagining the deeds of his comrades inspired him.

Pivot's last words were not to neglect what was below me.

What would Pivot say if he saw Bordeaux taking heart from his friends fighting literally under his feet?

Of course.

"You'd just laugh and tell me that wasn't what you meant, wouldn't you,

Pivot!"

Bordeaux howled. His emotions stirred by the incoming dance of death, he hefted his ax and charged in. He didn't have Wilhelm's technique or Grimm's ability to block a blow, nor was he as nimble as Carol or as thoughtful as Roswaal. Instead, Bordeaux Zergev gambled everything on what he did have, the body and abilities he'd been given.

"Rrraaahhhhhhh!!"

The twin blade assaulted him like a tempest, scoring his body; everywhere he felt burning pain and flowing blood. Still, he raised his ax and brought it down squarely on the snake-man with shattering force. The strike slammed home. And finally…

Chapter 11 - x