Harold wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist as he pulled his sword free from the chest of the cultist in front of him. The blade slid out with a wet sound, followed by a short burst of dark blood that splattered across the cracked stone beneath his boots.
The man collapsed without a word.
For a moment Harold simply stood there, breathing heavily, the weight of the battle pressing down on his shoulders like an invisible hand. His arms trembled slightly from exhaustion. His lungs burned each time he drew breath.
Around him, steel clashed against steel.
Shouts echoed across the ruined plaza.
The air itself had grown thick with the metallic scent of blood.
Harold glanced around at the defensive formation surrounding him. The soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder in a tight circle, backs nearly touching, their blades raised toward the incoming swarm of black-robed figures pressing in from every direction.
Despite their discipline, despite the careful positioning that Bernard had ordered earlier, it was painfully clear to every man standing there that the situation was slowly turning against them.
Harold let out a tired breath.
"Damn it…" he muttered under his breath, tightening his grip around the hilt of his sword.
Another cultist rushed toward him from the front, screaming something unintelligible through a bloodstained mouth. Harold stepped forward instinctively, his blade flashing once through the air.
The man's scream ended abruptly as steel cut across his throat.
The body dropped.
Harold barely noticed.
He lifted his head slightly, looking beyond the next wave of attackers that was already pushing forward.
Harold wiped sweat from his brow again, his voice rising with frustration.
"For hell's sake… how many more of them are there going to be?!"
To his left, Bernard parried a downward strike from a curved blade and twisted his body to drive his sword through the attacker's ribs. The cultist gasped once before collapsing at his feet.
Bernard kicked the body aside and quickly raised his guard again as two more rushed forward.
"They're still coming," he replied through clenched teeth, blocking another strike that rattled painfully through his arms.
"Hold your position."
His voice was steady.
Anyone who knew him well enough would have noticed the strain hidden beneath it.
The battlefield around them had become a chaotic storm of bodies and steel. The formation that Bernard had ordered earlier still held, though barely. The soldiers had locked themselves together in a tight defensive circle, each man protecting the flank of the one beside him.
It was a simple formation.
But it was also their only chance of survival.
Harold knew it.
Every soldier standing there knew it.
If even one of them fell…
If even a single gap appeared in that circle…
The cultists would pour through it like wolves smelling blood.
And then they would all die.
Harold forced the thought out of his mind and swung his sword again, driving another attacker backward. His muscles screamed with fatigue, but he ignored the pain.
Across the formation, Bernard raised his voice suddenly.
"Do not even think about giving up!"
His shout cut through the chaos like a blade.
"Reinforcements are on the way!"
Several soldiers tightened their grips on their weapons at the sound of his voice.
Hope was a fragile thing on a battlefield.
But even the smallest spark could keep a man standing for a few seconds longer.
Harold glanced briefly toward Bernard.
He could see the blood running down his brother's arm.
He could see the exhaustion in his eyes.
And yet Bernard still stood straight, his blade steady, his voice strong enough to lift the spirits of the men around them.
Harold felt something twist in his chest.
He knew Bernard well enough to recognize the truth.
Bernard didn't actually know if reinforcements were coming.
But he was willing to lie if it meant keeping the soldiers alive a little longer.
Harold lowered his gaze again, cutting down another cultist who had rushed too close.
He said nothing.
Sometimes words only made things harder.
Sometimes the best thing you could do for someone was simply trust them enough not to ask questions.
The battle raged on.
Minutes passed like hours.
The cultists pressed harder.
Their attacks became more desperate.
More reckless.
And then it happened.
The soldier standing to Bernard's right lost his grip.
It happened so quickly that none of them realized what had gone wrong until it was already too late.
His sword slipped from his hand.
The weapon struck the ground with a dull metallic clang.
For a fraction of a second the soldier froze, staring down at the empty space where his weapon should have been.
That moment of hesitation was all the cultists needed.
They descended on him like vultures.
Three blades flashed toward the opening in the formation.
Bernard reacted instantly.
Without hesitation he grabbed the soldier by the collar and yanked him backward, dragging him closer to the center of the circle while shifting his own position to fill the gap.
His body twisted as he raised his sword, blocking two incoming strikes in rapid succession.
But the third blade slipped past his defense.
Steel bit into his shoulder.
Bernard grunted as the blade carved through flesh.
Before he could recover, another attacker lunged forward from the side.
Then another.
Within seconds the cultists had recognized the weakness in the formation.
They began focusing their attacks entirely on Bernard.
Harold saw what was happening and immediately started pushing toward him, cutting his way through the attackers that separated them.
But Bernard's voice rang out before he could reach him.
"STAY IN POSITION!"
The command hit Harold like a physical blow.
Bernard's voice carried absolute authority.
Harold stopped.
His jaw tightened as he watched the scene unfolding a few meters away.
Bernard's body moved like a machine.
His sword flashed through the air again and again, blocking blows from every direction.
But there were simply too many.
Some attacks he managed to stop with his blade.
Others he was forced to take with his own body.
Blood began running down his side.
Sweat dripped into the open wounds, sending burning pain through his nerves.
The sensation kept him awake.
Kept him standing.
Then something changed.
Among the attacking cultists, one figure moved differently from the others.
The man had been waiting patiently for an opportunity.
And now he had found it.
Both of Bernard's arms were occupied deflecting attacks from two directions.
The Cultist stepped forward silently and raised his blade.
The strike was aimed directly at Bernard's neck.
Bernard saw it coming.
But he had no free hand left to stop it.
For a brief moment his thoughts became strangely calm.
So this is how it ends.
Without hesitation he thrust his head forward slightly, trying to intercept the blade with the thickest part of his skull in a desperate attempt to deflect the strike.
It was a ridiculous gamble.
But it was the only option left.
Then suddenly—
A familiar scent reached his nose.
Bernard blinked.
Huh…?
A furious voice exploded beside his ear.
"Didn't I teach you that sticking your head forward is an invitation to be decapitated, you so-called Captain of the First Division?!"
Before Bernard could even turn his head, a flash of red cut through the air.
A sword sliced downward.
The Cultist's body split cleanly in half.
Both halves collapsed to the ground before anyone nearby had time to react.
Bernard turned slowly.
Elizabeth stood beside him, her blade dripping with blood.
Her red hair moved gently in the wind, glowing like a flame beneath the dim light of the eclipse.
She looked at him with an expression somewhere between irritation and relief.
"You idiot," she said, placing one hand on her hip.
"You've picked up quite the habit of sacrificing yourself ever since you became so close to Toki."
Her eyes softened slightly.
"But don't forget something."
She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice.
"Out of everyone here, I am your number one priority."
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
"And I have not given you permission to die yet."
Bernard stared at her for a moment.
Then he began to laugh quietly.
Blood ran from the corner of his mouth as he wiped it away with his thumb.
"I would never dare defy you, my lady."
At that exact moment, the sound of marching boots echoed through the ruined plaza.
Hundreds of soldiers poured into the battlefield, surrounding the cultists from every direction.
Lilith dropped down from the top of a collapsed building, landing lightly on the ground as she drew her twin daggers.
Her eyes scanned the battlefield once before she smiled.
"Reinforcements have arrived."
For a moment the battlefield seemed to hesitate, as if even the chaos itself needed a second to understand what had just happened.
The sudden arrival of the reinforcements broke the fragile balance that had existed only moments earlier. The circle of exhausted soldiers that Bernard had held together with sheer stubbornness was no longer alone in the sea of black robes.
Steel flashed everywhere.
The disciplined advance of the new soldiers cut into the cultists like a blade slicing through dark water.
Cries of rage and confusion spread through the enemy ranks as they suddenly found themselves attacked from multiple sides.
Bernard leaned slightly on his sword, catching his breath. The world around him spun faintly, his vision dimming at the edges as exhaustion and blood loss tried to drag him toward unconsciousness.
Elizabeth immediately noticed.
Her expression hardened as she stepped closer and grabbed his arm before he could fall.
"Don't even think about collapsing now," she said sharply.
Bernard gave a weak smile.
"That wasn't my plan."
"That was exactly your plan," she replied dryly.
He wiped more blood from his lip and straightened himself with visible effort.
Around them, the new soldiers were already pushing the cultists backward. The formation expanded outward as the pressure on the original defenders finally began to ease.
Harold cut down another attacker before stepping closer to Bernard and Elizabeth.
"…That timing was suspiciously perfect," he muttered.
Elizabeth glanced at him.
"You're welcome."
Harold scratched the back of his head.
"That's not exactly what I meant."
Lilith walked toward them through the chaos as she observed the battlefield with amused eyes.
"You boys really know how to throw a party without inviting the guests of honor."
Bernard raised an eyebrow.
"And who exactly are the guests of honor?"
Lilith grinned.
"Us, obviously."
Her gaze shifted briefly toward the soldiers continuing to flood into the plaza.
"We brought most of the garrison with us. The shelter is still protected, don't worry."
Harold blinked.
"You convinced Smith to allow that?"
Lilith shrugged.
"Convince is a strong word."
Before she could elaborate, a familiar voice interrupted from behind the soldiers.
"I would prefer the word 'manipulated.'"
The soldiers parted slightly as a group approached from the rear of the formation.
Smith walked at the front, looking deeply displeased with the entire situation. His coat was already stained with dust and blood.
Behind him walked several figures Harold instantly recognized.
Melissa pushed past a few soldiers and stepped directly in front of Harold, placing her hands on his back.
"You're holding your sword too low," she said critically.
Harold blinked in confusion.
"…Excuse me?"
"If you keep it like that, you'll expose your ribs."
She pointed at his stance as if correcting a student during training.
"We don't want to embarrass ourselves in front of the soldiers."
Harold stared at her for a moment.
"Weren't you supposed to be in the shelter?"
Melissa tilted her head slightly.
"Smith let us come."
Harold looked past her toward the older man.
Smith raised his hands immediately.
"Do not look at me like that," he said defensively. "I was against this idea from the very beginning."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"And yet here we are."
Smith sighed heavily.
"You try arguing with her."
He gestured behind Melissa.
Utsuki stepped forward calmly.
The faint wind moving through the ruined plaza lifted strands of her silver hair, giving her an almost serene appearance despite the battlefield surrounding them.
In her hand she held a sword she had clearly picked up from the ground moments earlier.
She lifted it slightly, inspecting the balance of the weapon with mild curiosity.
"I think this one will do."
Smith rubbed his temples.
"I cannot believe you convinced me to allow this."
His voice carried the deep resignation of a man who had already lost the argument long before it had begun.
"If Toki finds out I brought you here, he will kill me with his own hands."
A faint smile appeared on Utsuki's lips.
Her voice was gentle.
"What can I say?"
She twirled the borrowed sword once before lowering it again.
"I'm very persuasive."
Kandaki stepped forward beside her, crossing his arms confidently.
"Don't worry, Mr. Smith," he said with an easy grin. "Master Toki isn't here."
A short distance behind them, Tora leaned casually against a broken pillar near Lorelay.
He glanced at Smith with an amused expression.
"And even if he was… it's not like he could do much with Utsuki around."
Lorelay chuckled softly.
"My, my… this scene is bringing back memories."
Her eyes drifted across the battlefield as if she were looking at something far away.
"This reminds me of a mission I went on about twenty years ago, near the border of Velmoras."
Smith groaned.
"This is not the time for stories."
He bent down and picked up a fallen sword from beside one of the corpses scattered across the ground.
The blade was chipped and stained with blood, but it would serve its purpose.
He gave it an experimental swing before letting out a tired sigh.
"Just try not to die," he muttered.
Utsuki stepped forward into the open space between the soldiers.
The battlefield stretched out before her like a storm of steel and shadows.
Hundreds of cultists still filled the ruined plaza.
Their numbers had not diminished nearly as much as one might hope.
Yet despite the danger surrounding them, Utsuki's expression remained calm.
Her eyes slowly scanned the battlefield.
Then she took a single step forward.
The soldiers nearest to her instinctively shifted their positions, opening a path without even realizing they had done so.
Melissa glanced sideways at Harold.
"…You might want to watch this."
Harold frowned slightly.
"What do you mean?"
Melissa's smile widened.
"You've never seen her fight seriously before, have you?"
Utsuki raised the sword slowly.
The wind moved again through the plaza, brushing against her silver hair.
For a moment she closed her eyes.
When they opened again, the calm within them had changed into something far sharper.
A cultist rushed toward her with a scream.
Utsuki stepped forward.
Her blade moved once.
Just once.
The man collapsed before he even realized he had been cut.
Harold's eyes widened.
The movement had been so precise… so effortless… that it barely looked like an attack at all.
Another cultist charged.
Then another.
Utsuki's sword moved again.
And again.
Each strike was simple.
No wasted movement.
No hesitation.
Within seconds three bodies lay at her feet.
Melissa leaned slightly toward Harold.
"Told you."
Harold stared in disbelief.
"…She's terrifying."
Behind them, Smith muttered quietly to himself.
"Yes."
He tightened his grip around his borrowed sword.
"Yes she is."
Bernard exhaled slowly as he watched.
"That control…"
Elizabeth, standing beside him, folded her arms with unmistakable satisfaction.
"I noticed it during our training sessions."
Harold glanced toward her.
"You mean when she practiced with you?"
Elizabeth shook her head.
"With you all," she corrected lightly.
Her eyes followed Utsuki's movements across the battlefield.
"But she wasn't really watching us."
Harold frowned slightly.
"…Then who?"
Elizabeth tilted her head toward the empty horizon beyond the battlefield.
"With Toki."
Harold blinked.
"Wait… I don't remember Toki mentioning that he trains her."
Elizabeth let out a small amused breath.
"No."
Another cultist approached Utsuki cautiously now, circling instead of charging. She shifted her stance without even looking at him, her feet settling into a lower posture.
The man lunged.
Utsuki stepped diagonally forward instead of backward.
The blade slid past her shoulder.
Her sword flicked upward.
The man dropped.
Elizabeth continued calmly.
"She never trained with him directly."
Harold looked confused.
"…Then how—"
Elizabeth interrupted with a small smile.
"She observed him."
Melissa nodded immediately.
"A lot."
Elizabeth chuckled softly.
"Every time Toki sparred with Bernard. Every time he demonstrated something. Every time he moved."
Her gaze sharpened slightly as she studied Utsuki's posture.
"She watched from the side."
"Quietly."
"Carefully."
Another cultist rushed Utsuki from behind.
She spun lightly, the sword cutting a small arc of silver light.
He fell beside the others.
Elizabeth continued.
"At first I thought she was just curious."
Harold watched closely now.
Utsuki stepped inside another opponent's guard, her blade striking twice in quick succession before sliding away again like flowing water.
Elizabeth nodded toward the movement.
"But after a few days… I realized she was memorizing everything."
"His timing."
"His footwork."
Elizabeth crossed her arms again, pride evident in her expression.
"But she didn't just imitate him."
Another cultist charged recklessly.
Utsuki shifted one step to the side.
The man ran directly past her.
Her sword tapped his spine lightly as he passed.
He collapsed a moment later.
Elizabeth gestured toward the battlefield.
"Toki's style is built around his body."
"Long reach."
"Explosive strength."
"Very aggressive angles."
Bernard chuckled faintly.
"Most people would break their shoulders trying to copy it."
Elizabeth smiled.
"Exactly."
Her eyes returned to Utsuki.
"So she changed it."
Harold frowned slightly.
"…Changed it?"
Elizabeth nodded.
"She shortened the arcs of the swings."
"Added redirections."
"Turned the heavy cuts into faster transitions."
Utsuki knocked aside another blade and countered with a precise thrust.
Bernard murmured quietly.
"…More versatile."
Elizabeth pointed at him.
"Right again."
Her voice carried quiet pride now.
"Utsuki studied Toki's style…"
"…and rebuilt it for her own proportions."
Her voice lowered slightly.
"And Toki never even noticed."
Bernard chuckled.
"That sounds about right."
On the battlefield, Utsuki paused for the first time since stepping forward.
Five bodies lay scattered near her feet.
The remaining cultists hesitated now.
The calm woman holding the borrowed sword no longer looked like an easy target.