The Mythical Hero's Otherworld Chronicles: Volume 2 E-Book

Tatematsuri

• Herausgeber: J-Novel Club
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: The Mythical Hero’s Otherworld Chronicles
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 336

Beschreibung

Exhausted after their successful defense of the Gurinda Mark, Hiro and Liz would like nothing better than a few weeks of respite. There’s no rest for the wicked, though, and Hiro’s claim to the War God’s bloodline has echoed in high places. Soon, he finds himself summoned to the imperial capital for an audience with the emperor himself. Hiro’s first appearance at court will determine his future in Aletia, but he must tread carefully—powerful nobles are already plotting to use him, and the emperor has his own plans for his newest son. Meanwhile, Liz joins the Fourth Legion’s march into Lichtein, while a mysterious figure’s arrival in a southern port marks the first rumblings of a coming landslide. And as its enemies close in, an increasingly desperate Lichtein turns to its final hope... A storm is brewing in the south, and fate conspires to put Hiro and Liz right in the center of it!

Leseprobe

Prologue

Screams choked the desert beneath the gaze of a scorching sun. Mocking jeers, dying gurgles, the thunder of horseshoes, all mingled in the morass of desperate passions called a battlefield. Every clash of blades birthed new corpses and sowed the earth with resentment. The dead glared up at the living in glassy-eyed accusation, emissaries of death beckoning them to the netherworld.

In the middle of the hellish melee lay an oasis of deathly calm—a space unto itself, isolated from the turmoil all around. Two figures faced each other down, the air between them taut with tension. One was a boy sporting an eyepatch and wielding a gleaming sword, the other a man with skin of gentle lilac, hefting a greatsword in his burly arms.

“Even now, at the eleventh hour, more men appear to oppose me.” The man swept his sweat-slicked hair back from his forehead, revealing the small violet crystal embedded in his brow. “Truly, I was not born lucky.”

The boy’s stance was so lax, anybody would have thought he was distracted, but the man knew better. He sensed the fearsome presence radiating from that scrawny body—an aura of raw might that spoke of experience on countless battlefields tempered by years of devoted study. To find it in a child so young was nothing short of astonishing.

The man broke into roaring laughter. “Gah ha ha ha! A natural-born warrior, that’s what you are!” Finding such ferocity in a boy so many years his junior, he could not help but smile. “Come, One-Eyed Dragon! A fight to the death, winner takes all! You can’t say fairer than that!”

His dry lips split into a full-faced grin. He spun, driving the tip of his greatsword—as long as he was tall—into the sand.

The boy glanced at the blade, then gave a dismissive shrug. “You zlosta and your obsession with killing,” he said. “Unlike you, I’m not a brute.”

Yet, as he spoke, his mouth widened into a savage smile, putting the lie to his words. The expression made an unsettling fit for his youthful face, sending a chill down the man’s spine.

“But I’m afraid I’m in a bad mood right now,” the boy continued. “So I’m not going to let you off easy.”

Nothingness flowed through the boy. Shedding every last vestige of his emotions, he gave himself to the abyss. He raised his silver sword before his chest and leveled it at his foe.

Chapter 1: To the Capital

The thirteenth day of the seventh month of Imperial Year 1023

That day, as it did every day, Berg Fortress baked in the sweltering prairie heat. A girl’s voice rang through the central tower, cutting through the muggy air like the chime of a bell.

“Hiro! Where are you?”

Her name was Celia Estrella Elizabeth von Grantz, the sixth princess of the Grantzian Empire. Even as she stalked through the fortress like a mother searching for a wayward child, she carried herself with a serene grace that compelled the gaze. Her crimson hair shimmered with ardent fire, while her shapely features would bring a sigh of admiration to anyone’s lips.

“Hiro!”

Yet it was not her appearance that was most striking, but the flame-red sword on her hip. Its name was Lævateinn, and it was a Spiritblade—one of five legendary weapons fashioned by the first emperor, founder of the Grantzian Empire, and the one that he had loved the best.

“Where in the world have you run off to?!”

She had only recently taken over as commander of Berg Fortress, so the complex was still a maze to her. Tracking someone down through its labyrinthine corridors was an arduous task. She clenched her fists in frustration as she walked, scrunching the ornate letter in her hands into a crumpled wad.

“Hmph.” She pouted. “But he’s always on the third floor...”

The third floor of the central tower was mostly used as a storage space for books, tools, lumber, and the like. The white wolf named Cerberus presently claimed it as her den, and she had taken to snarling at any soldiers who intruded unannounced.

“Maybe I should check his room again?”

No sooner had the words left her lips than a door opened at the far end of the dingy corridor. Out padded Cerberus, de facto mistress of the third floor. A black-haired, black-eyed boy followed behind her, his soft features at odds with his forbidding eyepatch—the very boy that Liz had been looking for.

“Hiro!” she cried, raising a hand to catch his attention.

He drew closer. “What’s the hurry?”

“I’ve been searching for you everywhere! It’s urgent!”

“Sorry. I was in the library. I needed to look something up.” Hiro glanced back at the room behind him, where the fortress’s historical records lined the walls.

“Oh, really?” Liz planted her hands on her hips. “I’m glad you’re getting yourself an education, but you could at least tell me where to find you.”

Ever since Hiro had suffered a violent fit brought on by his malfunctioning vision, Liz had developed something of an overprotective streak. He couldn’t blame her for fussing over him after witnessing his attack, but her concern could be a little overbearing.

“Got it. I’ll be more careful in future,” he said. “Anyway, what’s up?”

“Oh, right! Look, I got a reply to my letter of complaint.” She thrust out her hand.

Hiro narrowed his eyes at the wad of paper in her grip. “Is that it? It looks pretty scrunched up.”

“It’s come straight from Father himself. See? There’s the imperial signature.”

Hiro took the crumpled paper and unfolded it with a foreboding crinkling. “Did the horse carry it here in its teeth?”

“I didn’t mean for it to end up like that!” Liz protested. “I just got so caught up in looking for you, I forgot I was carrying it, and, well...sorry.”

She clapped her hands together in apology. With those doey eyes gazing hesitantly up at him, Hiro lost the will to be angry. It was said that beauty was its own blessing, and now he thought he understood what that meant.

“I guess it’s fine. As long as I can still tell what it says.”

He lowered his gaze to the letter and began to read.

My most beloved daughter has apprised me of your circumstances, including your notable contributions in battle against the Duchy of Lichtein. Yet before I congratulate you on your accomplishments, I must first address a more pressing issue: that of your heritage. I understand that you claim to be descended from His Majesty the Second Emperor. Determining Prince Stovell’s punishment requires that this claim be verified. In view of your intimate involvement in this matter, I hereby request your immediate presence in the imperial capital.

Signed,

Emperor Greiheit, Forty-Eighth Emperor of the Grantzian Empire

“He says he wants me to come to the capital,” Hiro announced.

On the one hand, a visit to the capital would provide a valuable opportunity for Hiro to introduce himself to Grantzian high society, not to mention the emperor himself. On the other, there was no telling what dangers might lie in wait for him at court. He would have to tread extremely carefully.

“Really? That’s great! Come on, we’ll need to pack!” Liz tugged at his arm, grinning widely.

“I’m not sure you’re invited,” Hiro said. “The letter doesn’t say anything about you coming.”

Aside from anything else, Liz’s attendance would turn his visit into an imperial family affair. Hiro doubted that her enemies would move as openly against her in the presence of the emperor as they had in the past, but even so, it would be safer for her to remain in Berg Fortress.

“What? Boo.” Liz puffed out her cheeks indignantly.

Hiro felt his resolve waver for a moment, but he hardened his heart. “The area around the fortress still isn’t secure. What are the soldiers supposed to do if something happens and you aren’t there to command? Besides, we’re up to our ears in paperwork. Someone needs to fill it out, and half of it needs your signature.”

Liz kept pouting. “Tris can do it.”

“Tris is... Well, not to be rude, but he’s a soldier, not a bureaucrat. I’m not sure I’d trust him with matters of state.”

“I’m a soldier too.”

“Point taken, but at least you’d do a better job than him. Come on, you can handle a few signatures.”

Bureaucracy was hardly Hiro’s forte either. Berg Fortress was in dire need of a capable civil tribune. Few officials would be pleased to see themselves assigned to a border fortress, but it would still be worth petitioning the emperor about it if he got the chance.

“All right, then.” Liz looked up at him with her best puppy-dog eyes. “But if I do a really good job and I get done really quickly, can I join you? Please?”

Hiro found himself nodding almost on instinct. “Fine. I guess there won’t be much to keep you here anyway, if you get it all out of the way.”

Liz’s act dropped instantly as she bounced away in glee. “All right, it’s a deal! Those documents aren’t going to know what hit them!”

“If you say so, but I’m warning you, there are a lot of—”

Hiro’s warning came too late. Liz was already streaking away at astounding speed.

“I’ll have to get her a souvenir from the capital,” he said to himself. “That should be enough to get back in her good books. Well, that and an apology.”

Leaving at night might be prudent. It would be inconvenient if Liz caught wind of his departure.

Hiro returned to his room to prepare for his impending trip.

The evening sun had slipped below the horizon when Hiro made his move, and the rest of the fortress had long been abed but for the night watch. First, he snuck down to the ground floor of the tower, then crept along the corridor, holding his breath, until he reached the door to the study. A quick peek through the open door revealed Liz slumped over the desk, fast asleep amid stacks of papers. He smiled to himself in relief, but at that moment...

“What are you up to, you scoundrel?”

A voice rang out behind him. He wheeled around, backing away in shock. There stood an old soldier with a lantern in his hand. As Hiro watched, the surprise on the man’s face condensed into rage.

“Well, now. A knave with designs on Her Highness’s virtue, eh?! I’ll show you what for!”

“That’s not what I was— I mean, ssh! You’ll wake her up!”

The man was Tris von Tarmier, a third class military tribune and one of Liz’s closest retainers. His anger dissipated as his lantern’s light fell on Hiro’s face. “Oh, it’s you, whelp. What’s got you sneaking about so late?”

“Well, about that...” Fearing that if he hesitated, Tris would interpret it as evidence of impure motives, Hiro offered a brief explanation.

“So that’s the way of it.” Tris nodded once Hiro was done. “You wanted to ascertain that Her Highness was asleep so you could leave in secrecy.”

“I mean, I can’t exactly take her with me,” Hiro said.

“Aye, true enough. I’d not want her to leave the fortress either. Still, you’re a royal now, are you not? With the second emperor’s blood? I’d say you’re entitled to an escort, if you want one.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. Most of the nobles at the royal court don’t know what to make of me yet, the emperor included. The last thing I want is to come on too strong.”

Until the emperor acknowledged his claim, Hiro commanded less authority than a common peasant. It would be sensible to be discreet. If he was ever to bring Liz’s dream to fruition, his allies would need to outnumber his enemies. It would not do to sour relations before he had even begun.

“Bah,” Tris spat. “Too cautious by half, if you ask me. One look at your hair and eyes should be all the proof anyone needs, black as they are.”

“Those wouldn’t be hard to fake,” Hiro pointed out. If it came down to it, he could produce Excalibur, but that was truly a last resort. It was highly likely that First Prince Stovell would be present during his audience with the emperor. Unsheathing the Heavenly Sovereign in the emperor’s presence would allow the prince to raise an uproar about Hiro being an assassin and draw steel. The result would be the worst-case scenario: Stovell celebrated as a hero for defending the emperor and Liz executed for treason. Hiro was bound for the imperial palace now. In that swirling cauldron of desires and ambitions, there was no such thing as too cautious.

“I should be off,” he said. “Time’s pressing.”

“Aye, so it is. Am I to take it you won’t need an escort, then?”

“I won’t,” Hiro said.

“Then how do you mean to get there?” The old soldier scratched his chin. “As I recall, you never learned to ride.”

“I was planning to head to Linkus on foot and meet with Kiork.” From there, he could catch a stagecoach to take him to the imperial capital.

Tris hummed in thought. “Aye, might be it’s worth a shot.”

“What is?”

“This way, whelp. I’ve a gift for you.” Tris turned his back and strode away. Hiro followed apprehensively. Together they wound their way through the fort. Eventually, they arrived at the stables—or so Hiro thought, before Tris led him past them to an empty plot of land where a sturdy metal cage rested.

“This fine fellow’s what I wanted to show you.” The old soldier gave the cage a thump. Something inside squirmed, emitting a strange cry.

“What is it?” Hiro asked.

Tris flashed him a wicked grin. “This, lad... This is a swiftdrake.”

＊

As the sun rose on a cloud-flecked sky, Berg Fortress began to wake. The morning found Tris seated in the officer’s mess hall after seeing Hiro off, grumbling to himself. The old soldier’s well-muscled build spoke of might easily equal to his younger contemporaries, but now, with his brows knotted in consternation, he looked far from the fearsome taskmaster his subordinates knew.

“Blast that whelp!” he suddenly cried. The breakfasting soldiers nearby spun around to stare at him, but he was too preoccupied by his woes to notice.

Liz wandered up to his table, so pale and lifeless that she might have been a ghost. “He abandoned me... Hiro abandoned me...” she repeated to herself as she took the seat opposite him.

To see the girl he thought of as a daughter in such a state, Tris could not help but set his own troubles aside. “Whatever’s the matter, Your Highness?” he asked.

“Hiro’s gone,” she said.

“Is that so?”

“He must have gone to see Uncle. If he can’t ride, he has to be traveling by stagecoach.”

Horses were well-practiced at sensing human emotions. They mocked those they disliked and took pleasure in unseating those who showed hesitation, but time and affection could transform them into faithful companions. Hiro’s problem was not with his technique; he sat a horse with a natural ease. It was that his mounts refused to heed him. Without fail, every single one bucked him off and bolted.

“Aye, speaking of riding...” Seeing as it related both to horses and to Hiro, Tris decided it was time to broach the topic. “Have you ever ridden a swiftdrake, Your Highness?”

“A swiftdrake? Of course not. You do know they’re descended from actual dragons, don’t you? They’d never let a human on their backs. Only a handful of beastfolk ever get to ride one, and they speak dragon.”

All of what Liz said was true, and yet Hiro had done just that, right before Tris’s eyes. In fact, not only had the swiftdrake allowed the boy onto its back, it had actually lowered its head to make it easier for him.

“Come to think of it, don’t we have one in the fortress?” Liz asked. “I’m sure I remember hearing that there was one terrorizing the local towns. Didn’t we capture it?”

“Aye, we did. Until the whelp rode off on it.”

“Hah! Oh, Tris, you’re too funny.”

“That’s no jest, Your Highness. I saw it with my own eyes. The boy hopped on the beast’s back and rode off before dawn, easy as you please! I swear it’s true!” Tris finished his rant, then froze, realizing that he had misstepped.

“Oh, really? It sounds like you have some explaining to do.” Liz’s mouth was smiling, but her eyes were cold. The blood drained from Tris’s face.

“Mercy, Your Highness, I beg you!”

He barely even had time to plead before his scream echoed through the mess hall.

＊

The fourteenth day of the seventh month of Imperial Year 1023

The sun hung in a cloudless azure sky, showering its rays mercilessly down onto the fertile earth. Across the grasslands, heavy with the scent of verdant greenery, a shadow raced. Its low-slung figure was smaller than a horse, but far faster, with powerful legs that propelled it onward at monstrous speed. Riding on its back, dressed in his black uniform, was Hiro.

It’s just like Tris said! Even a novice can ride one! And it’s so fast!

The wind skimmed past his cheeks, sending flower petals dancing in his wake. It felt as though he had become one with the natural world.

His mount was a gift from Tris—some kind of creature called a swiftdrake. Supposedly, they were native not to Soleil but the Shaitan Islands to the east. They had spread to Soleil three hundred years ago, when some enterprising adventurer brought several back to the mainland from a voyage overseas. The cargo had escaped into the wilds, where they had multiplied and thrived.

“Take me right on up to Kiork’s mansion!”

With his mood much improved from the ride, Hiro commanded his steed through the streets of Linkus. Although dawn had barely broken, the main thoroughfare was already bustling with pedestrians and early rising market stalls. Now that the threat of war had passed, the town was regaining its former vibrancy.

Hiro pulled up at the mansion, leaped down from the swiftdrake, and trotted up to the figure by the gate.

“Well met, Lord Hiro,” the middle-aged man greeted him. “I hope your journey was not too taxing.”

“Kurt, isn’t it? It’s been a while.”

Kurt von Tarmier served Margrave Kiork both as his aide and as the chief butler of his household. He had been the first to welcome Liz’s company when they had first arrived in Linkus.

“Quite so. Please, follow me. You and the margrave have much to discuss, and it would not do to keep him waiting.”

Von Tarmier ushered Hiro through the doors to the first floor parlor, a square room with spotless white walls. A window on the western wall commanded a view of Linkus’s affluent northern quarter. Hiro took a seat on a plush, L-shaped sofa in the center of the room. Opposite him, across the table, sat Kiork.

“So, it’s a stagecoach to the capital you’re after?” Kiork said after Hiro had finished his explanation. He took a sip of the coffee his maid had placed on the table and relaxed into his customary half-smile. “I could certainly arrange that. When do you intend to depart?”

“Today, if I can,” Hiro replied. “Would that be possible?”

“You’re in quite a hurry. Would there be any harm in going tomorrow?”

“I’d rather not. His Majesty didn’t give me a time limit, but I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Kiork nodded. “There’s certainly sense in that.” He smiled, then softly clapped his hands. “Kurt, fetch me a pen and parchment.”

“At once, milord.” Von Tarmier bowed and silently exited the room.

Kiork watched his butler leave, then turned back to Hiro and began to rifle through his pockets. “Now, then. Even by express, it’ll be five days’ travel to the capital. I could hardly ask you to do it on an empty stomach, nor would I if I could.” He produced a plain brown pouch, which he set on the table. “This should cover the cost of any provisions.”

“I couldn’t possibly...” Hiro protested. Tris had already furnished him with eight silver dratzes for the journey—a modest sum, but more than enough to last him to the imperial capital. Kiork’s pouch clearly contained far more.

He tried to refuse, but Kiork cut him off with a raised hand. “Please, I insist. I daresay I owe you my life several times over, and more importantly, so does my niece. I don’t imagine for a moment that this repays my debt, but I hope you will consider it a show of good faith.”

The margrave’s half-smile never slipped, but Hiro could sense that he wouldn’t be denied. Better to accept the man’s kindness or they would be arguing all day.

“In that case, I’m very grateful,” he said.

“Besides,” Kiork continued, “if your star is rising, I’d be wise to get on your good side while I have the chance.”

It was a shockingly ungentlemanly admission. Hiro smiled awkwardly. “I’ll try not to let you down.”

Kiork chuckled. “I look forward to it.”

Von Tarmier returned with a pen, a bottle of ink, and a sheaf of parchment, which he laid before Kiork. The margrave drew up a letter with a practiced hand.

“Give this to the station clerk,” he said, passing the parchment to Hiro. He kept it unfurled, as the ink was still wet. “They will ready their fastest carriage—although be warned that what you gain in speed, you may lose in comfort.”

The roads made for stagecoaches were mostly owned by the state, so they were referred to as the imperial roads. In addition to receiving regular repairs, they boasted periodic rest stops where merchants sold food and water. A regular rotation of patrols stationed out of nearby forts kept monsters and bandits at bay, so they were regarded by the people as a safe mode of travel.

“Oh, and you needn’t worry for your mount,” Kiork added. “I will ensure the beast is well cared for.”

A part of Hiro had wanted to travel all the way to the capital on the swiftdrake’s back, but he had ultimately decided against it. A stagecoach would at least ensure that he got where he was going. Atop a swiftdrake, he ran a very real risk of getting lost.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”

Kiork saw him out. Once the doors had closed behind him, Hiro headed for the station. The sun beat down on him harshly, seeking to burn, but a soothing breeze mitigated the heat with its gentle caress.

He passed between the white walls of the margrave’s gate, descended the hill, and entered the well-to-do northern quarter. Past inns and taverns he strolled, before turning a corner at a bar packed with townsfolk celebrating the recent victory over Lichtein. There, the streets opened up into a green paddock surrounded by a high fence. Several dozen horses, specially bred for pulling stagecoaches, grazed inside it. A short distance away was the station, a large log building with a red-painted roof. He entered and presented Kiork’s parchment to the clerk. Before long, a seven-horse carriage drew up before him.

Well, then—onward to the imperial capital. It was still called the royal capital when I left. I wonder how much it’s changed.

With anticipation burning in his chest, Hiro stepped inside the stagecoach.

＊

On the same day that Hiro departed for the imperial capital, something strange was afoot far to the south, on the southernmost coast of the Duchy of Lichtein.

Fisherfolk flocked to the port city of Ilnis for its plentiful variety of catches, but that was not its only claim to fame. This was a town steeped in blood and rust, where slavers docked from around the world with their cargo of flesh. Some distance from the port, where a veritable fleet of slave ships pitched in the tide, was a stretch of beach where the fisherfolk moored their dinghies. A shelter stood on the rocky shore. Although intended for returning fisherfolk to rest their legs, it was currently occupied by six sellswords clutching wicked blades.

“The duke’s a bloody fool, is what he is,” one of the men scoffed. “Goes and picks a fight with the empire, and he loses two of his sons into the bargain!”

“Aye, and the imperials’ll come looking for blood soon enough,” another replied. “I don’t fancy our chances, not even all the way down here.”

“As I hear it, it’ll be us going to them. The duke’s trying again, spouting some bollocks about getting revenge for his boy. They say he’s so desperate, he’s taking on every man who’ll fit a uniform.”

“Oy! What do I bloody pay you for?!” a voice rang out.

The sellswords turned as one toward a portly slave merchant dressed in fine silks. Sweat dripped from his body as he huffed across the sands. Ahead of him was a young girl running for all she was worth.

The sellswords shrugged in resignation and sighed as one. Such sights were not unusual in the Duchy of Lichtein. Whether captives bought in from foreign shores or Lichtein natives stripped of their citizenship, slaves often tried to run from their slavers before they were sold. This girl was yet another in a long tradition.

“That’s my cargo getting away! Stop her, you layabouts!”

Five of the sellswords turned to the sixth. “What do we do, chief?”

The man stood up from his resting place in the shade. “It’s the fat ponce who puts coin in our pockets.” He gestured with a thrust of his chin. “Bring her in.”

The sellswords set out down the beach at a comfortable clip. They overtook the sweating slaver in short order and soon caught up to the girl.

She came to a halt surrounded by burly soldiers, her face a mask of terror. “Please... Please, let me go,” she whispered.

“Sorry, girly. Gotta make a living.”

“A few more years on her, she’d be a real looker. Shame she’ll never get that old.”

Slave girls rarely survived to become adults. They usually succumbed to their brutal living conditions before they could—not that it earned them any mercy. Slaves were property in the Duchy of Lichtein. When one wore out, their masters would simply buy another.

The slave merchant finally caught up to them, huffing. “Waste my time, will you, brat?!” he wheezed. He seized a handful of the girl’s hair and flung her to the ground, eliciting a cry of pain, then planted a foot on her head and ground her face into the sun-scorched sand. She thrashed desperately, trying to get away from the heat, but there was no escape for her with his ample bulk pinning her down.

“Pull that again and I’ll slit your throat, you hear me? Eh?!”

“That’ll do, boss,” one of the sellswords ventured. “You’ll kill the poor girl.”

The slaver turned to him with a cruel grin. “And what if I do? It’s none of your business how I treat my property.”

“As you like, then.” The man scowled in distaste, but he said nothing more.

The leader of the sellswords sidled up, stifling a yawn. “Seems you’ve caught the little lady.”

“Eventually!” The slaver pulled a face. “Once you laggards got around to doing your bloody jobs instead of—”

“Now, now, don’t be like that. All’s well that ends well, eh?” The chief sellsword gave a mocking grin. “Right. Ought to be off, I reckon. It’s too blasted hot here.” He swung around—and his jaw dropped as he saw an enormous figure looming over him.

“Now, who in the world are you?”

The newcomer stood taller than anybody else present. The chief sellsword shrank back, reflexively drawing his sword.

<“Hmm. Scrawny arms, narrow shoulders... You must be a human.”>

“That some kind of foreign tongue? I don’t have a bloody clue what you just said.”

<“I have found my way to Soleil, then.”>

The large man brushed his hair from his eyes with an irritable hand. The violet crystal embedded in his forehead gleamed as it caught the sunlight.

<“The common tongue here is...Grantzian, I believe.”>

“Oy, big guy. I’m talking to you.”

“Apologies,” the man rumbled in heavily accented Grantzian. “Do you understand me now?”

“You an imperial?” the chief sellsword asked.

The large man frowned. “Do I look like I belong to one of your human empires?”

The chief sellsword looked the man over for a moment, then his jaw suddenly tightened with comprehension. “Bugger me, it can’t be...”

The man’s lilac skin and muscular build would have told the tale by themselves, but the violet crystal embedded in his forehead left no room for doubt. Only one race in Aletia matched those characteristics.

“You’re a zlosta?!”

The man grinned. “Well deduced, human.”

“A zlosta?!” the slave merchant cried in surprise. “If that’s true, he’s worth a fortune! Seize him, you louts! I’ll pay you triple!”

One thousand years ago, the zlosta—or the fiendkin, as they were colloquially known—had swept across the land in a riot of conquest. The humans, dwarves, álfar, and beastfolk had stood against them as a coalition known as the Fourfold Alliance. After a long and bitter struggle, the alliance succeeded in destroying the zlosta homeland, but it had failed to eradicate the race entirely. Most of the remaining zlosta crossed the ocean to the Ambition archipelago south of Soleil, fleeing persecution. As far as anybody knew, there they remained, although the raging seas that isolated the islands from the rest of Aletia made it impossible to know for certain. Not all zlosta had made the crossing, however. Some had refused exile and remained behind in Soleil.

“The empire keeps what’s left of them on a tight leash nowadays. They only come up on the markets once in a blue moon, and it’s always some scrawny wretch with barely a trace of real zlosta blood left in them. This one, though...pure as you please. The coin from him will set me up for a dozen lifetimes!”

To the northeast of the Grantzian Empire was a nation called the Kingdom of Lebering. Long ago it had been founded as a haven for persecuted zlosta, but the empire had since annexed it under the guise of making it a protectorate.

“Seems to me you’re offering us a raw deal, boss,” the chief sellsword said. “We might be looking at a pureblood zlosta here, from the look of him. Make it five times and we can— Guh?!”

Before he could finish, a gout of crimson exploded from his body. Blood gushed from the gaping wound in his torso. His innards sprayed across the sand with a sickening splat.

“Bah. Wherever I go, it’s all the same. Slaves this, coin that, as though you could ever put me in chains. You don’t even understand the fight you’ve chosen.” The zlosta heaved an exasperated sigh, clutching a bloodstained greatsword in his hands.

“Chief!”

“You’ll pay for that, you bastard!”

The remaining sellswords readied their weapons and charged.

The zlosta snorted. “It’s always the weakest curs that bark the loudest.”

He sent three of them flying with a single easy swing, painting the beach with their viscera. The remaining two saw what happened to their comrades, glanced at each other, then turned tail and ran.

“Oy! Get back here!” the slaver cried. “What about your reward?!”

“It’s not worth my life!” one called back.

“You dare call yourselves mercenaries?!”

“Fear not. They shall not escape,” the zlosta intoned. He dropped to one knee and slammed the palm of his hand into the ground. Farther up the beach, the sand erupted beneath the fleeing sellswords, tangling their legs and sending them sprawling.

“What the—?!”

“Something’s got my leg!”

A dust cloud rose up in front of them. For a moment it hung in the air, then a greatsword clove through it to sever their heads. Gore spattered across the sand.

“Just as feeble as the rest of their kind,” the zlosta said, stepping over their bodies. He slung his sword onto his back and strode toward the slave merchant. “And now that that is settled, only one question remains. What am I to do with you?”

“Now, don’t be hasty!” the man sniveled. “Yes, that’s right... Why don’t you work for me? We could be partners! I’ll pay you ten times what I— Mmph!”

The zlosta’s hand closed over the slave merchant’s unsightly face and lifted him off the ground. The slave girl lay unconscious beneath the man’s dangling feet, her face bright red. The zlosta’s gaze lingered on her for a second. When he looked back up at the slaver, his eyes were cold.

“Death is the only cure for fools like you.”

The slaver screamed. Blood squirted from every orifice—his eyes, nostrils, mouth, ears. Some of it splattered across the zlosta’s face, but the gargantuan man only watched impassively. Once the deed was done, he tossed the limp corpse aside.

“A new beginning is in order, it seems,” he whispered to himself, kneeling next to the fallen child. He tenderly brushed her inflamed cheek before gathering her in his hands.

“I have already died once. Let’s see how far a dead man’s strength can carry him.”

He set off along the beach with the girl cradled in his arms, bound for he knew not where.

＊

In the Spirit King’s sanctum in Baum, ruled by the álf known as the archpriestess

In the verdant heart of the forest lay a deep blue spring flecked with wisps of mist. This was the heart of the Spirit King’s sanctum, the Baptismal Sanctuary—a sacred place that only the archpriestess was permitted to enter. The álfen woman stood waist-deep in the water. Her eyes slowly opened. In their depths, closer to turquoise than the aquamarine of the pool, miniature lights burst and faded.

“Is this zlosta’s arrival your will?” she whispered.

Her gaze fell on the sphere of light hovering before her, situated between two enormous statues. It gave her no answer. It never did.

“Then I shall assist as best I can.”

A ripple spread through the spring as she rose to the bank. Droplets of water trickled down her clavicle to vanish between her ample breasts. Her sheer shawl clung wetly to her skin, accentuating her sculpted curves. She reached for the kimono lying on the bank, slipped it over her shoulders, and set off into the forest. Through lush woods she hurried, until she arrived at a familiar passage. For a while she wended her way in silence through white-walled corridors. At last, she came to a spacious hall where the temple’s knight-priestesses awaited.

“Bring me ink, a pen, and a sheaf of paper,” she commanded.

The knight-priestesses tensed at the anger in her voice.

“At once, Your Grace,” one said. She signaled to her squire.

“Right away!” the squire piped up before vanishing down the corridor.

The captain of the knight-priestesses stepped forward hesitantly. “Your Grace, your clothes...”

“I fear this is too important to wait,” the archpriestess replied.

“You have seen something?”

“Indeed. I must inform the emperor with all haste.”

The squire returned at top speed, clutching a selection of writing implements. “Here, Your Grace!” she managed between wheezes.

“Thank you kindly,” the archpriestess said, giving the girl an encouraging smile.

The captain was less impressed. “Show some manners in the presence of the archpriestess!” she barked, planting her hands on her hips. “You’ll learn your etiquette someday or you’ll stay a squire for life!”

“Apologies...mistress...”

“She gave no offense,” the archpriestess said. “Leave her be. Let her rest.”

She cast a searching gaze around the chamber. The knight-priestesses inferred her meaning and fetched her a wooden chair. She placed the sheet of white paper on it and began to write.

“Take this to the Knights of the Spirits, with the instruction to convey it to the imperial capital immediately,” she said, her eyes never lifting from the page. “Is that understood?”

She bit her thumb and, after checking that she had drawn blood, pressed it to the letter. A change came over the paper as the scarlet bead seeped into it. It began to glow with a faint light, before rolling up of its own accord. She handed the scroll to the knight-priestess at her shoulder. The knight excused herself and took off down the corridor.

“I have done all I can,” the archpriestess whispered as she watched the woman go. “The rest depends on you, Lord Schwartz.”

＊＊＊

The seventeenth day of the seventh month of Imperial Year 1023

The five-day journey to the imperial capital was far from luxurious. Kiork had commissioned a stagecoach that prioritized speed over any and all comfort, to the point that every bump in the road would propel its unfortunate passenger’s head into the roof. It was, in a word, miserable. Accordingly, Hiro woke on the fifth and final day to excruciating pain.

“Urgh... I’m not gonna miss this. I don’t think I slept a wink...”

He sat upright, massaging his aching body. Expelling a heavy sigh, he looked around the carriage. Its sparse furnishings were horrendously uncomfortable, but at least it had enough space for him to lie stretched out. An expanse of grassland rolled past outside the window on the right.

As he watched with bleary eyes, the front window opened inward. “Awake in there, young man?” the coachman asked, peering through. Hiro raised a hand in reply.

“Best make ready to disembark. We’ll be arriving soon.”

The stagecoach rattled as the window snapped shut again. Hiro slid his legs down from the seat and began gathering his belongings.

The express stagecoach did not terminate directly at the capital, but at a station one sel—or three kilometers—away. After they pulled in, Hiro thanked the coachman and exited the carriage. His jaw dropped at the sheer volume of people. The station was packed with people of all stripes: nobles and commonfolk, sellswords and adventurers.

“I guess that’s what you get in the biggest city in the land,” he said to himself. “I thought the Linkus station was busy, but this is something else.”

Hiro made his way out of the packed station. The scent of newgrown leaves tickled his nostrils as he stepped outside, carried on a pleasant breeze. A stagecoach service nearby offered passage to the capital, but he decided to walk instead. He had a pressing matter to attend to, and he could only do so on foot.

I’m being followed.

He couldn’t risk allowing his pursuers to attack him in the open. Innocent people might get caught in the cross fire. He slipped down a shallow footpath by the roadside and counted the hostile presences that followed him.

Three...six...eight of them.

Amateurs, most likely, given how easily he had sensed them, but it would be premature to make assumptions.

Guess I should make the first move.

He could wait for them to spring their trap, but the scuffle could attract nearby guards, and without any documents to prove who he was, he might end up being taken away for questioning. Even if he could verify his identity, the guards might very well be in on the plot, in which case they might detain him for who knew how long. He didn’t have that kind of time to waste.

Now...who first?

Hiro pinpointed the location of his closest pursuer, then suddenly spun toward them. Space split apart at his fingertips, depositing the handle of a dagger into his grip. As the man reeled back in shock, Hiro slipped behind him to press the point of his newly manifested spirit weapon into his back.

“Struggle and I’ll kill you,” he whispered into the man’s ear. “Now, tell your friends to back off, nice and easy.”

“All right! All right! Just spare my life!”