Published at 13th of August 2019 1:07 pm

Volume 6, Chapter 6: Final Battle

This chapter is updated by NovelFree.ml

Part 1

The sorcerer had fallen forward and didn’t move. While gasping for breath, treading as cautiously as a cat, Orba slowly approached the corpse.

He could certainly picture the sorcerer having two or three hearts and suddenly reviving to bare his fangs. But it looked like a normal corpse. The remains of the broken staff were scattered about and there was no sign of the snake that had threatened Orba.

The man had called himself “a passageway for Garda”. Of course, he didn’t understand what that meant but in all likelihood, he wasn’t Garda himself.

Orba pulled the sword from the corpse’s chest then, perhaps thinking of something, knelt by it with his longsword still in hand.

When he left the temple a few minutes later, he found Stan waiting with some horses. Colour had returned to his face. As Orba had guessed, the sorcery’s trickery seemed to no longer be in effect now that the sorcerer had been killed. The soldiers in the street wore the same expressions on their faces as though they had suddenly been awakened from sleep.

But being pulled from the illusions did not dispel the panic. The air carrier – Orba could now clearly see that it was no dragon but an aircraft with ether engines – was still in the sky. Every time it dropped bombs, a white light illuminated his face and houses went up in flames.

For the people rushing to escape, it felt as though even though they had opened their eyes, they were still caught in a nightmare. A great many were running without being able to tell if this was a dream or reality.

Orba and Stan leapt onto horses and galloped down the street. There was a ground-shaking thud and the buildings they had passed exploded and scattered into debris. Flames and smoke mingled together and filled the sky over Kadyne.

Within the sounds of explosions, screams and roars that almost seemed to have taken over their ears, they heard Shique calling shrilly.

“Orba!”

Each and every one from Orba’s unit was gathered by the city’s southern gate. None of them had any conspicuous injuries. It was fortunate that their entrance into the town had been delayed.

“What the hell happened?” Gilliam’s face was a mixture of irritation and anger.

“Instead of all hanging around squawking like new-born dragons, why aren’t you going to fight?” Orba gave them a brief explanation of the situation. When he told them about killing the sorcerer at the temple, Talcott shrank back with a start.

“Ugh, scary. You might have been cursed for all time.” Being a former sailor, he was superstitious. His fingers drew some kind of charm to ward off evil.

“Anyway, we’ll be the ones who will cut Garda down. There’s nothing scary about being cursed by one or two sorcerers,” Kurun puffed out his chest. The inexperienced recruit was unexpectedly bold.

Orba watched as each of their faces returned to their usual expression. “From here on, this is our counterattack,” he said.

First, he left upwards of thirty mercenaries with Gilliam to mop up the enemy soldiers. As for the rest, “We’re taking that down,” he said as he pointed towards the sky.

Similarly to Shique and the others who had, by a stroke of good luck, been near the end of the line, the slow-moving artillery had also been nearby. The guns they had to hand included five cannons taken from the enemy. Orba decided that it would more or less be enough.

As for Orba himself, his intention was to rally assistance so as soon as he had given instructions to immediately assemble the guns outside the city, he promptly jumped back on a horse. He called out to each of the soldiers who were wandering aimlessly outside the town walls. Since both units and personnel were scattered, the chain of command had completely broken down. There were a lot of soldiers who had already fled from the town.

The ground shook once more and small stones struck Orba’s mask. He clicked his tongue inwardly. He couldn’t stand Surūr but the troop of warriors from different countries that the man had brought together, apart for Orba’s unit, should not have disintegrated into chaos. But this,

A single sorcerer can cause this much mayhem?

There was neither policy nor plan for something like this.

Just managing to collect a good number of people, Orba gathered them all where the roads intersected at the centre of the city. While they were cantering along, he drew a simple copy of the city map that he had memorised and wrote down where to place the guns.

“Don’t all fire at once. I’ll send a signal. You absolutely must fire following that order.”

Among those he gave instructions to were many Helian soldiers who had fought alongside Orba’s unit at the relay-station town. Of the Zerdians other than them, there were not a few who displayed reluctance towards receiving his peremptory orders but,

“We will act as decoys.”

They weren’t able to voice any complaints as a small group of riders led by Orba rode their horses to a position where they would attract the enemy ship’s notice.

Explosions erupted fast and furious just behind where Orba and his group galloped by. Despite it being his first time in the town, Orba, who was in the lead, chose the way with precision, but one of the mercenaries at the end of the line was struck by the shock of an impact and fell. He broke his neck and died.

Before long, they had done almost a full round of the downtown area and had arrived at a square with a park when, from atop his horse, Orba suddenly raised his arm.

The sound of cannons echoed like a roar.

One or two shots missed but it still served as a threat that guided how the enemy ship moved. It turned in the sky to put itself at a distance from the shelling. At that moment, the air carrier’s movements slowed.

“Fire!”

At Orba’s command, this time a volley of fire came from the surface. The ship’s large frame was seen to shake, flames spouted from the underside and it immediately listed then fell.

Shouts of joy rose from the streets of Kadyne.

Looking at it again, the city was now overtaken by flames and soot, and countless corpses concealed the roads from sight. Many of the populace had been killed and most of those who were still alive were standing in a daze, were grieving over the bodies of their family and friends, or were clinging to each other, simply crying.

A particularly high-pitched voice reached Orba’s ears. Looking to his side, a young woman was clawing at the surface of the road. Listening to her sorrowing words, it seemed that she had lost her new-born baby.

Orba tightly shut his lips and let his horse canter once more.

The old trees planted in a row along the outer walls were engulfed in flames and sparks repeatedly flew overhead. He searched for the figure of the commanding officer, Surūr, but what he found was a group of soldiers who were carrying his corpse on their shoulders.

A man not blessed by the fortunes of war.

If instead of being the commander of an entire army, he had simply lead a battalion into battle, he might have been a man who would have earned greater achievements. Orba sighed, his thoughts gloomy.

“Orba-dono,” Bisham, the company commander hailed him. As a sensible, quick-witted man of action, even in these abnormal circumstances, he tried as much as possible to remain calm and gather the soldiers in one place.

“It seems that Garda uses sorcery to throw people’s hearts into disorder.” His voice was shaking slightly. He had wounds to his arms and legs, telling of how he too had fought the demons.

Orba nodded. “Yeah. But even sorcerers die if they’re cut down.”

This truth that Orba had made apparent was virtually the one ray of hope for the Zerdians who had suffered the bitter experience of seeing half their unit destroyed. They had been told the legend of Garda in place of lullabies. In the real world, in the short time since Garda had revived, he had taken control of nearly half of the Tauran region. They didn’t know his true essence, they couldn’t seize his true shape, they didn’t even understand his true objective.

Although they had triumphed in Cherik, there were those among them who doubted whether he was an opponent that swords and spears could reach. Just a short while ago, they had felt for themselves the terror of sorcery. But Orba had killed it. If you pierced them with a sword, their lives were severed and the effects of sorcery would cease.

But,

“That’s also a trap. It’s all a trap!” There were those who screamed, half-crazed. They pointed towards Orba. “Why were you the only one to stay conscious? You accursed Mephian gladiator, everything, it’s all a trap. You’ll deceive us and drag us into a hell worse than this!”

Perhaps because sorcery had shaken their hearts, there were not a few voices raised in agreement. The air around them was once more becoming laden with nervous tension. Bisham was about to regain control of the situation but this time, it was Orba who forcefully pushed the company commander aside and stepped forward.

“Yeah, these gladiators.”

“What?”

“They’re treated like cattle. They fight anyone they’re ordered to, that’s what gladiators are.”

“T-That’s…” For some reason, the soldier couldn’t continue. Orba increased his pace and was already within a stone’s throw of him. His hand quickly reached out to stay the spear that the soldier had instinctively raised.

“To amuse the people, be it their parents, their brothers or the son of their own blood, they have to take their sword and kill each other. That is what us gladiators are. But we don’t get deceived by illusions. Because we don’t have nightmares. Since actually, every day of our lives was a nightmare.”

What Orba was saying was complete nonsense. He himself had almost been killed by the illusion of demons after all. But in this situation, the truth didn’t matter. Although Zerdians loathed Mephians, in this critical situation, would the powerful feeling of camaraderie that came from coming back from the brink of death together overcome that hatred?

Two or three lies at this point in time… Hadn’t his life been coated in lies when he was in Mephius itself, Orba thought self-mockingly.

When he was a hair’s breadth from the tip of the spear, he suddenly and forcefully drew it towards himself. To the soldier’s confusion, the spearhead seemed in an instant to be biting into Orba’s neck.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Don’t you want to test it?”

“Test?”

“Whether or not I’m the sorcerer’s comrade. The sorcerer I cut down bled red blood but you probably won’t believe that. What colour blood does a sorcerer spill in your imagination? Do you want to test it out on my body?”

Orba was going to draw the spear even closer to him but the soldier resisted unconsciously. From the other side of the mask, those unblinking eyes stared straight at the soldier’s face. He gulped.

Gilliam was about to step forward to put a stop to Orba’s insane behaviour. A hand stretched out before him. Shique’s.

Why are you getting in the way? The glare that Gilliam threw at Shique abruptly lost its intensity. Shique was staring only at Orba. His expression showed far more strongly than Gilliam’s that he was on edge and that any moment now he might take out his swords and strike down the soldier.

Orba and the soldier continued their silent confrontation. As the Zerdians watched, holding their breath, a loud voice was heard.

“What are you doing!”

Feeling as though they had just had insults hurled at them, the startled soldiers turned around and saw a middle-aged woman leaning on the back of the young mother that Orba had observed a short while ago.

She was still clawing at the surface of the road. Her broken nails had drawn a trail of blood along the ground. She had cried until her voice had died out and only groans as hoarse as a man’s now escaped from her cracked and parched lips.

As for the middle-aged woman who was trying to stop her, her clothes were burned to tatters. One of her breasts was all but exposed. When they were out walking in the streets, Zerdian women showed almost no skin. But right then, that custom had no significance. As the soot blackening her cheeks was washed away by her own tears streaming endlessly down, she held the young mother close and stroked her back, desperately trying to encourage her. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” she repeated those and other such empty and meaningless words.

As the hot wind struck his nostrils, Orba let go of the spear.

“I’m going to Eimen.” His voice wasn’t particularly loud but it reached the ears of every one of the soldiers gathered there. “I’m not afraid of Garda. I’m not terrified of sorcery either. During the march, what I probably need to look out for won’t be Garda’s clever magical traps but you bastards getting my way of killing him and turning your swords against me.”

As soon as he finished saying so, Orba jumped nimbly onto the back of a horse.

“Shique, Gilliam! Everyone in my unit, follow me. I’ll defeat Garda myself long before any Zerdian can!”

“Yeah!” The mercenaries raised their fists in the air and shouted in unison. Most of them were genuinely moved by Orba’s words and attitude, but Talcott was rueful about letting himself get carried away and his face was red as he raised his fist.

“Hah, that brat,” even as he railed against him, Gilliam also quickly chose a horse and put his foot in the stirrup. He turned his eyes towards Shique, who was likewise making his way to a horse. “What is it, Shique?”

The reason he asked was because although he had expected him to look thoroughly satisfied, he was staring at Orba with a somewhat forlorn expression. Shique softly shook his head.

“Nothing,” he answered then muttered in a low voice, No matter where he is and even if he himself wanted to live peacefully, he surely…

“What?”

“I said it was nothing.”

As though to shake off his sentimentalism, Shique vigorously leaped on his horse and immediately set off at a gallop, hurrying after Orba’s back.

“After them, after them!” From the ground, Bisham waived his arm to rouse the soldiers to action. “We’re going to fall behind the Mephians. The ones to defeat the sorcerer and take back Tauran with our swords should be none other than we Zerdians!”

To compete with those who had left, the Zerdians did as they had and caught the warhorses that were running wildly through the smouldering streets of Kadyne. Terrified by the fire, the horses were neighing madly and had to be brought under control with equal ferociousness before the soldiers could start to head north from Kadyne.

Orba only looked back once to check that the Zerdian soldiers were rushing after them.

Can we really not use dragons? Horses were one thing but any dragons had probably long since broken through the walls of Kadyne and scattered outside. Even if they hadn’t, carelessly approaching a raging dragon would only infuriate it further and might endanger the lives of those of the city’s people who had survived.

If only Hou Ran were here… That thought fleeted across his mind. Be it a war of capture or a battle beginning with a charge, even a single dragon was preferable to none. But right now, they had to settle for the fact that the entire troop hadn’t been annihilated.

Sorcery…

He ground his teeth fiercely and turned to face the oncoming wind. As long as he had steel at his waist and a heartbeat in his chest, defeat was impossible. Orba grappled with the stormy feelings that raged within him by forcing himself to believe that.

Orba guided the troops himself, choosing not the highway but a road that cut through the mountains that spread to the north of Kadyne. He had crammed into his head the maps of the surrounding area for just such an occasion. When the sun went down, they were able to set up an encampment on an even piece of land at the foot of the mountains.

Orba had decided to follow a narrow path that ran at the top of a gorge. A river that flowed into Kadyne’s wetlands had once run through the bottom of the valley but its course had been altered to irrigate Zer Tauran’s pastures and now the gorge had now dried up.

Prudence was essential for passing along this narrow path. Marching at night would be even more dangerous. Orba had a watch set up and decided to make camp overnight. It was impossible for him not to feel impatient. But no matter how quickly they hurried, it would take them upwards of a full day to reach Eimen.

When they bivouacked for the evening, Orba asked Bisham to get the platoon leaders to do roll-call and to verify their numbers. The army stood at about four hundred. The rest had either been killed in action in Kadyne or had forgotten themselves because of the sorcerer’s trap and had fled.

Since they hadn’t brought any non-combatants, they could of course afford to march for extended periods of time. If they couldn’t receive supplies at Eimen, their isolated unit would have no choice but to retreat to Cherik. But the enemy might see it as a good opportunity to deal them the finishing blow. The result: annihilation.

“Is this what they call fighting with your back to the wall?”

At Orba’s words, Gilliam, who was in the same tent and who had his shoulders turned as though to show how much of hassle it all was, spoke up.

“If you want food to eat and a bed to sleep on then first take over the castle, huh. Heh, plain and simple like that is good enough for me. Better than sorcery and strategy, anyway.”

“That’s fine for now.”

“What’s fine?”

“What you said about eating a meal. Bisham-dono.”

“Can I do something for you?”

“Would you pass those words on to the soldiers.”

Although when they had left Kadyne, Orba had been of the opinion that he had to rouse and stir up the soldiers, he was wondering if they weren’t feeling a bit too encouraged. Hurrying too eagerly would lead to their own ruin. Gilliam’s words felt like they would get that excessive vigour to drop.

“Understood, but…” Bisham looked at Orba, smiling somewhat at his surprising request. “Wouldn’t it look just as good if you were the one to tell them?”

“That kind of attitude is a pitch for the commander-in-chief. I’m too young.”

Is that so, Bisham said in a low voice. It would certainly be difficult for a Mephian to lead Zerdians. Still, Bisham longed for a land that was different and in which this boy would distinguish himself ever further.

It’s fine for now. It’s fine but alternatively, it’s dangerous. This man, just like he said himself, he’s too young.

To Bisham’s way of thinking, this man could not be the one to defeat Garda. It had to be a Zerdian. And furthermore, it should be a man who would in the future shoulder the weight of Tauran.

Bisham was the commander of a Helian infantry company. Although he was a capable man, the horizons he saw where by no means wide. That a man such as he should at this time come to think beyond his country’s borders and take the whole Tauran region into account was caused by Garda and by none other than Orba.

Part 2

Led by Ax, an army of over six thousand were marching on Eimen. They advanced smoothly without any attacks from the enemy. They had gone north of Lake Soma, crossed part of the highlands that obstructed the way northward and had passed through the Coldrin Hills while maintaining formation as a single large force.

Ax had arrived at the highway that overlooked Eimen to the west but, his expression as he rode his horse remained sombre.

Are they planning to stall for time now, at the very last moment?

He frequently sent out scouts however the provisions made against that were unusual. To Ax’s way of thinking, the enemy would undoubtedly line up their battle formation exclusively along the plain to the east of Eimen.

Since there was currently no trade being carried out and all available manpower in the city was serving as soldiers, the town wouldn’t be producing anything. As it had to serve as host to Garda’s hugely swollen army, there should not be many provisions left. In which case, Ax judged that the enemy would be averse to a siege war and would launch itself at them.

“Even a sorcerer can’t fill the stomach by magic.”

Six days after leaving Cherik. The distance remaining to Eimen would be covered in just half a day. Having pitched camp on a plateau, Ax was for now waiting for a move from the enemy and was fretting about whether they should attack in one swoop.

To the north, what had once been the pastures of Zer Tauran stretched out, green and lush.

How did things go in Kadyne?

Jagged mountains towered between these main troops and Kadyne, and as airships and military bases were scarce, there was no time to communicate with the detached force. In any case, the latter had not inherently been asked to capture Kadyne. They only had to keep the enemy troops stationed there in check.

Do we distribute the troops and stir things up in Eimen? Or do we move the air carriers from the base and head to Zer Illias?

Even though he solicited the opinions of the leading officers, they were largely the same as Ax’s and the two aforementioned plans were the only ones that came up. The pain of Ravan Dol’s absence pierced his heart.

However,

The enemy is Garda.

Ax would not underestimate the enemy. Ravan had also hammered the point in repeatedly that it was best to assume that information was being leaked to them.

“We will push forward with the entire army,” he decided. If the plan didn’t succeed, they could always overcome the opposition with numbers and speed. Ax sent a messenger to the air carrier base in the south to have them bring over two ships. He would place five hundred soldiers apiece on board each and intended to use them as a mobile force in case of emergency.

This was the decision made by the leader of the western alliance, Ax. Nor did Lasvius, who was accompanying him, object. Seeing his way of command up close, it appeared to him that the authority of the Bazgan House truly wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

When the air carriers arrived the next day, Ax advanced the camp still further and pressed towards Eimen. They took up position south of the highlands, but as ever there was no sign of enemy movement. Ax prudently sent out a reconnoitring party and investigated whether there was any attempt to circle from their flanks or at their rear, but it ended up being a waste of time.

“In that case, we can’t do anything but go for it.”

Preparing for the assault, Ax ordered the army to take a short respite. It was then that something unusual occurred.

The force that Bisham had been appointed commander-in-chief of was halfway through crossing the rugged mountains. They had gone by way of a path so narrow that even their breathing felt as though it were being constricted and, just when the sun started to go down, the vanguard, led by Orba, finally reached a road that was stable underfoot.

But as they drew closer to Eimen, Stan’s complexion as he rode his horse once more grew bad. No doubt he could feel the flow of ether. Which meant that a trap of sorcery once again lay ahead. Yet Orba deliberately drove his horse forward at a recklessly fast pace. Unlike in Kadyne, Eimen had enemy soldiers.

In which case, in the end they’ll strike using armed force.

As long as he understood that, that his opponents were humans wielding steel, then there were any number of ways to fight them.

Afterwards, he determinedly whipped his horse onwards. He was intent upon joining with Ax’s main forces before they fell into whatever trap the enemy had prepared.

Here… Ax must not be defeated, so he thought. Although far from perfect, that the west had somehow united to confront Garda was because that man was there. Basically, the descendants of Yasch Bazgan, the king of Zer Tauran, could be said to be at the root of that consciousness of being fellow countrymen that was peculiar to Zerdians.

Taking Ax as a whole, Orba did not think that he was a perfectly ideal king for the Zerdians. For a start, Orba didn’t believe that something like lineage had anything to do with having a talent for politics. But in the utter chaos of this situation, lineage had turned once more into a light. So that the people and the soldiers would turn their gaze in the same direction and embrace the same purpose in their hearts, it was necessary to have a leader acting as a guiding light and for that, blood might sometimes hold the most powerful and eloquent persuasive force – more so than the talents or the splendid speeches that would be handed down to posterity or the many other things that revealed a person’s greatness.

There was also the case of Helio’s Queen Marilène and Orba, as someone who had gotten involved with the strife within the Tauran region, felt it in his bones.

If it loses Ax, the west will collapse. Even if a new leader emerges, there’ll be no point hoping for the same kind of solidarity as now. And in that case, winning against Garda will be impossible.

They were approaching a gently-sloping hilly area from the other side of which they would be able to see Eimen and, just as they were drawing up to it,

“Look!”

Someone pointed to a spot in the sky. In the pale, indigo blue curtain of the sky there was a single point that was coloured an unnatural, dark black.

Everyone on that march could only be reminded of the apparitions in Kadyne.

Orba however sprung forward. His behaviour showed no hesitation and, as though guided by that, the soldiers also spurred their horses on.

Just as it had done in Kadyne, the sky suddenly became overcast. A sand-laden wind blew. At first, Ax wondered if the harbinger of a sandstorm. The wind, that cared not about staying in one place, blew with even greater force and the clouds covered the sun as though the sky over their heads had been painted black.

The first to signal their unease at this abnormal happening were the dragons. They let out high-pitched howls, frightening the horses. All around, these started raising their forelegs wildly, whinnying all the while and shaking the warriors off.

Ax covered his face with the cloak hanging from his back. That sand-laden wind was that fierce. They had temporarily moved the camp to a safe location and he wondered briefly if he should wait for the weather to recover.

The soldiers who were likewise protecting their faces from the sand all lifted their heads as one. Something could be heard coming from the sky. Ax too strained his ears.

When there was a sound like that of thousands, of tens of thousands of flying insects gathered together, how many people would notice that arrows were about to be shot?

“Scatter, scatter, scatter!”

By the time the platoon leaders shouted out, it was too late. The bodies of several hundred soldiers had been pierced through and they collapsed noisily.

“What!” Without a moment’s delay, Ax pulled out his sword and cut down that arrows aimed at his head that rained incessantly down.

At the same time, the wind suddenly stopped.

Sand coiling into a whirlwind swirled through the empty sky and for a moment created a pale brown veil, but it cleared up before long and the soldiers of the western alliance saw a huge shadow hovering before them. It was as though a pitch black wall were blocking the way to Eimen however,

“Go!”

When a voice was emitted from its centre, the wall undulated, heaved and then spat out a group of horse riders. While Ax remained stunned, the wall itself transformed into an army corps that swooped in to attack.

Part 3

Reizus, the sorcerer who was now called Garda and who was feared throughout the west, left Zer Illias at almost that exact same time.

Reports reached his ears almost simultaneously that in Taúlia, Raswan Bazgan had failed to seize control of the city and that in Kadyne, the sorcerer he had despatched had been felled.

Rather than his ears, it was more accurate to say that he felt it with his body. Garda had selected several among his subordinate sorcerers who had a wavelength similar to his and had deployed them throughout the west. The ancient magic that he had resurrected allowed them to share their five senses over long distances as long as they formed an ether “passageway”. Their eyes were Garda’s eyes, their ears were Garda’s ears and, in a manner of speaking, each of them was Garda. That was how he had become such a threat to the west such a short time.

Because of the missteps in Taúlia and Kadyne, he had of course not been able to make any large-scale preparations in Zer Illias. However, piloting a large airship, he calmly pressed on through the pastures and there was no hint of impatience in his expression.

He flew the distance to Eimen in just half a day. Both the speed and the cruising range were strange/unusual. It appeared that Garda was more or less constantly releasing ether from within himself.

At the same time as he arrived in Eimen, an airship carrying a different sorcerer and coming from the south also landed. This sorcerer brought with him a woman who was in a swoon and, upon giving her into the custody of a comrade, he bowed his head as soon as he was in Garda’s presence.

“My deepest apologies.”

“It’s fine. Your failure is my failure. But don’t fret. It’s simply the case that as we were not able to take Taúlia, we shall have to annihilate them here. And you were able to safely bring the key for that.”

“Aye.”

“Die in peace. Garda's magic arts have crossed the span of two hundred years and revived.”

As he spoke, Garda approached the kneeling sorcerer. As he told him to “die”, it looked like Garda himself was going to perform the deed, but he simply passed by him without doing anything. Nonetheless, the sorcerer collapsed like rags.

The face that jutted out from under the hood was completely devoid of vitality. There were probably very few people who, at a glance, would be able to tell that he was the very same sorcerer who had stood as close as a shadow to Raswan Bazgan in Taúlia. The flesh had entirely fallen in and it was as though his skin were stretched directly across his skull. Only the sorcerers, Garda first and foremost, knew that this was the price to pay for having covered so great a distance as the one between Taúlia and Eimen at far faster a speed than a horse galloping without rest could ever have done.

The sorcerer had something like a smile on his thin lips and remained unmoving where he had fallen. Without paying it any heed, Garda went down the stairs.

Serving as Eimen’s temple to the Dragon Gods, the building he was in was a tall tower. The section above ground was open to ordinary worshippers but none except those of the ecclesiastical class were allowed in the cellars.

A damp wind wafted in the underground. As though it had been burrowed through a single, gigantic rock, there was not a joint to be seen in the walls on either side. Proceeding deeper within, his steps not making any sound, Garda stopped when it opened into a circular room.

When he snapped his fingers, flames appeared at points along the curved wall. The faint light they gave illuminated the person standing in the centre of the hall.

Esmena Bazgan.

“At long last I was able to meet you, princess of the Bazgan House,” Garda smiled.

There was no answer. Esmena stood there vacantly, like one who was dreaming while awake. Faced with the fearsome threat to the west, she didn’t wail, or break down or display anger.

It was not only Esmena. Under the burning flames along the circular wall, noblewomen who had been kidnapped from many of the countries of Tauran were lined up. Among them was Lima Khadein. All were like Esmena: while their hollow gaze wandered around, they simply tottered and swayed like flowers in the wind, neither saying a word nor trying to escape from there.

“It is most fortunate to be able to receive the sovereign’s seal of the Magic Dynasty that I had been searching for. Though I don’t intend to use it to formally declare myself king of the western lands.” The war fan used by Ax Bazgan hung at Garda’s waist. Needless to say, Esmena was holding it in her hands when she was taken from Taúlia. “Originally, I wanted to take my time winning your ether but… unfortunately, just for now, I can’t afford to do it that way.”

Garda drew up to Esmena and abruptly placed his palm before her eyes. As it cast a shadow over her pale face, with a start, Esmena’s slender shoulders started to shake. She slowly blinked a few times. As though to match that pace, Garda spoke while wriggling his palm at a slight angle.

“I shall take the liberty to look into your heart and memories. As you are now, what is that occupies your heart? Or in other words, what is the most important thing that makes the current you yourself? Come, there is nothing to be afraid of. Before long, we will be one of body and mind.”

The intervals between Esmena’s blinking widened. Perhaps it was because of the shadows cast by the flickering flames, but the shape of the hand before Esmena’s beautiful face seemed to change shape. Was it a dragon or was it a fiend? Either way, it was eerie.

After some time had passed, Garda’s dry lips formed into an ominous smile.

“Ho. So the one you love fell victim to an evil scheme and died?”

As soon as Garda spoke, Esmena’s body was seen to tremble. For a moment, a woeful expression flashed through her gaze that had been wandering vacantly and her eyes glistened. The flames flickered ever more furiously. The tears that reflected them were like red drops of light as they trickled and fell.

“I am the greatest sorcerer in the west, no, in the world. My name is Garda, he who has completely lined the western wilderness with skulls and dyed innumerable lakes the colour of blood. Everywhere where there are the stone cities of civilisation, the streets will be filled with voices extolling my name, towers will rise like my own fingers to grasp the heavens, and every temple will be converted into vessels of sorcery for me to manipulate ether. Do you understand it, Princess? My might, my terror, my power? If I will it, even the dead can revive from within the grave. Yes, their very aspect unchanged from when they were alive. And for that, Princess, none other than your cooperation is needed.”

What were the expressions that crossed Esmena’s face in one after another? Was it joy or hope, turmoil or despair? They could not be distinguished within the dark shadows, but Garda’s smile unmistakably deepened.

“Ah, I can feel it. The strong force of the ether. As expected of the Bazgan House. You have inherited excellent blood. If it’s with this…”

Plunged in thought, shivering as he gazed intently at Esmena, Garda did not notice.

Despite the strict orders that no one was to be allowed in the tower’s underground, a single man had crept in.

The man’s name was Moldorf, the Red Dragon of Kadyne.

Carrying a spear in one hand, he approached the circular chamber.

“Go!”

At Nilgif’s shout, the entire three thousand troops launched themselves out of Eimen and rushed to attack the army of the western alliance led by Ax. In terms of numbers, their opponents surpassed them roughly twice over. But the enemy had fallen into a trap. Setting aside the human lives lost to the arrows, the dragons and horses that had been wounded were reacting violently, making it impossible for Ax set up battle formations.

This assault, which was akin to a surprise attack, had taken their combined efforts to carry out and for all that it was Ax, he would not be able to overturn the situation.

Yet there was no fiery heat boiling within the depths of Nilgif’s broad chest. Rather, it felt as if the blood flowing to his limbs had grown cold and solidified.

Yesterday, when he had only just arrived in Eimen, Nilgif had received horrifying news. A number of units that were posted as look-outs in the mountains had sighted black smoke rising from the direction of Kadyne. It had been confirmed that an air carrier from Garda’s army had left Eimen a few hours before that. There was only one possible inference.

Using the air carrier, Garda had burned the troops of the western alliance to ashes. Along with Kadyne. Along with its many inhabitants who had been in the city.

Nilgif had turned to hurriedly jump on horseback. There might still be survivors. They had to go help them at once.

But his foot had missed the stirrup and he had fallen where he was. After that, he wasn’t able to stand back up. The ground was warped and the sky was broken. It was as though a hole that would never be filled no matter how many years passed had opened in Nilgif’s heart, and he barely had any strength left to cling to the edge of that pit.

And after that, heedless of the fact that his men could see him, his large back had shaken and he had wept bitterly.

Let’s die, he had thought. What is left when I’m already living in disgrace? I endured such humiliation simply to protect the people of Kadyne. But now Kadyne, my home, has vanished in flames.

However… Like venomous serpents lifting their sickle-shaped heads, dark emotions rose in Nilgif’s breast. Stirred to movement by those emotions, he was finally able to make his large frame crawl up from the hole in his heart.

But Garda, only after I’ve destroyed you. Until I’ve torn your fucking body to shreds, until I’ve taken your head and crushed your neck with my own teeth, I won’t give up my life. Not to anyone!

His older brother Moldorf had rushed there and found Nilgif in tears, past caring about consequences and ready to turn even on his brother. He seized him by both shoulders.

“Look,” despite the strength exerted to do so, the older brother’s expression was strangely serene as he spoke. “There are people being held in Zer Ilias, your family included, and we can’t leave them to die. Kadyne has not disappeared entirely. There are people who have survived even now, and now it is through them that Kadyne still exists, that our birthplace still exists.”

“But, but, Brother…”

“But nothing. I am going to take this whole army and face Ax. You are going to take the best and go to Zer Illias. Now that the soldiers have all left, Zer Illias should be empty. Listen, we’ll give our all in this fight. If we win, Garda will grow careless. If we lose, he’ll make preparations for his next move. Either way, it will create an opening. And you will destroy Garda with your own hands.”

Nilgif suddenly raised his head. His brother recognised his grim determination.

“No, that won’t do, Brother.” His tears fell as he shook his head. “I won’t do. I’m impatient and not suited for infiltration. Garda would certainly notice. If I fail, Kadyne’s people will be annihilated. Brother, you go.”

“Nilgif…”

“It’s alright. I’m still the man known as the Blue Dragon, Nilgif. No matter what kind of dishonour it brings, I will fight with all my might.”

The brothers stared closely at each other. After a moment, Moldorf assented.

“Take Ax’s head, Nilgif. The sorcerers will become suspicious unless you maintain that level of determination and intent. Even if you have to lose your men for nothing.”

“I understand.”

Nilgif recalled that conversation as he charged. He was crying already. Each tear he shed was cold.

He was in the van, leading the cavalry unit, the pride of Kadyne. Riding small dragons, Fugrum’s dragoons maintained a close formation as they charged in the centre. In breastplates and helmets decorated with plumes, Lakekish’s tall and tenacious infantrymen dashed forward from either side.

And further out to both sides, surrounding the alliance’s troops as swiftly as a gale, was Eimen’s chariot squadrons. Pulling the chariots on which several archers rode were not horses but two Mantos dragons, which among the medium-sized breeds were particularly noted for their manoeuvrability. As though they were wheels, they whirred the six legs that grew from their elongated torsos and plunged forward. Other cavalry troops followed behind the chariot squadrons and, spread out in a fan shape, they positioned themselves to cut off the allied troops’ path of retreat.

In terms of vigour, Nilgif was truly like a dragon itself as he moved through the centre and tore through Ax’s large army as though it were made of paper.

“Yield!” He shouted as he brandished his spear, sending enemy heads flying. “Yield, yield!”

Who it was he was grieving for, he himself didn’t know. Where he passed, blood swirled overhead.

With no chance to take up battle formation, the allied troops had started to retreat in the face of the enemy’s onslaught. Even the commander-in-chief Ax Bazgan had gotten dragged into close combat.

Pulling hard on his reins as he destroyed an enemy spear, Ax shouted to the messenger unit.

“Bring out the air carriers. The enemy won’t have a rear guard. Get right behind them!”

His opponents’ blood spewed onto his face as he yelled. Ax also chose several of the best from his own bodyguards and had them accompany the messengers. Without giving him time to make sure that they had galloped away, enemies rushed in one after another. He narrowly avoided taking a sword to the face from a soldier whose belligerence appeared to mark him as being from a mountain tribe.

“Do you act knowing that I am Ax Bazgan, the master of Tauran? Fool.”

“It’s Ax. I’ll have his head!”

The distance between him and the enemy had already closed. Ax hurled aside his spear and drew the sword at his waist. No doubt excited upon hearing the enemy commander’s name, the soldier once again raised his sword overhead in a wide, sweeping movement. Ax pierced him through the throat.

While he slaughtered a further three opponents, the shadows of the air carriers under his command appeared in the sky. Like that, they would carry out the plan to land reinforcements behind the enemy. This was the turning point to determine victory or defeat and Ax called out,

“Hold fast, my braves. Against Ax, whatever tricks the enemies use are useless, useless, useless. Come, strike at the enemy from in front and behind. If we just break through now, victory is ours!”

Shouts from the throng of friends and foes mingled and amidst the turmoil, even Ax, the commander-in-chief, could no longer tell whether it was the voice of his allies taking heart or of his enemies jeering.

In any case, since he was the one who had yelled out, Ax too was frantically holding his ground. How many times did he raise his sword high, how many opponents did he stab, how many enemies did he unseat from their horses? His own shoulders and arms were covered in shallow wounds. His face that had been overflowing with energy was starting to show traces of fatigue.

With eyes that were growing hazy, Ax looked up towards the sky. At long last, the air carriers had flown clear over the enemies and were about to get behind them.

But as he stared upwards, the ships started to behave strangely. Like leaves tossed about in a storm, they lurched left and right then immediately after, the ether emissions from their engines stopped and with their prows forward, they hurtled towards the ground.

“Fools.”

Of course, there was no way for Ax to hear that. In the vaults beneath Eimen’s tower, Garda roared with laughter. As the sorcerer who had summoned the illusions and the sandstorm, he had taken control of all of the ether in this territory.

As he watched the explosion from afar, Ax ground his teeth until he bled. The second ship was still just managing to continue cruising but its altitude was already low. So low it felt like he could touch it if he just reached up a hand from horseback. It was obvious that at this rate, it would share the same fate as the other ship.

We should retreat.

If they lost most of their men here, there would be no way afterwards to stop Garda’s invasion. A sharp pain pierced Ax Bazgan’s shoulder. Even as he was struck by the enemy’s blow, he thrust his sword at his opponent’s neck. The helmet came off, revealing the dead man’s face. It was a young man.

“Bastards!” Ax screamed at no one.

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