Tenacious Battle. (1)
“Your Majesty has confessed her love to Deculein.”
Rohakan’s words. That voice, so clear yet so utterly foolish, disrupts the darkness of the bedchamber.
“……What.”
Not confusion, but absurdity. A mad declaration that leaves one dazed.
The red moonlight seeping through the window dyes Sophien’s face. Like a blush.
“You worthless cur, I’ll rip that mad mouth of yours to shreds—”
Muttering thus, the emperor approaches Rohakan once more.
Her eyes wide open. Her body trembling like a ghost’s. A chill killing intent rising sharply, and within it…….
—Your Majesty! Gawain here!
The knights’ shouts ring out noisily. They stamp their feet anxiously outside the bedchamber door.
—Your Majesty! If there’s no answer, we’ll—
“Stand down.”
Sophien silences them with a single word.
“Any who dare enter my bedchamber shall be executed without mercy.”
—…….
“Begone.”
—Yes. Our apologies. We sensed a sudden surge of mana…….
“’Tis nothing.”
—Understood. As you command.
The sound of footsteps descending the stairs again. Silence settles over the space, and Sophien glares once more at Rohakan, shrouded in shadow.
Click—
Rohakan turns on the lamp. In the now-bright bedchamber, his loathsome face is revealed.
It was far younger than before. The deep wrinkles smoothed out, no trace of the old man left.
“Have you sold your soul to a devil? That nonsense about seeing the future, your rejuvenated face—it all makes sense if so.”
“Would I dare, Your Majesty…… Tsk.”
At that moment, Rohakan clicks his tongue. Instantly, the Rune Language Binding that had bound him evaporates under Sophien’s power.
“This formality’s a real bother. Too uncomfortable, I reckon.”
And he sits in a chair. In that same insolent, carefree manner as before.
“Enough of that. There’s no such protocol in desert law. Even if you’ve become emperor. Long time no see, Sophien.”
Bloodshot veins bulge in Sophien’s eyes. She’d always found formality and etiquette tiresome, but facing this wretch showing such disgrace before the sovereign of all under heaven ignites her fury.
“……The only reason I do not slay you this instant is that you have succeeded, to some degree, in piquing my interest.”
Rohakan eyes the killing intent flickering around Sophien’s form.
“Yet I am not so cheerful. See to it that your death does not outweigh my curiosity. From henceforth, answer only what I ask.”
A smile plays on Rohakan’s lips.
That child she once was, now a stern sovereign.
“Rohakan. Did you truly see the future?”
“Yup. Means my life’s got precious little left. Seems I’m the rare sort whose talents bloom fullest toward the end.”
Return of the light.
The trait that defined Rohakan’s life.
“The sun shines brightest just before it sets. My death’s right around the corner, and right now, I might even surpass Demakan.”
Rohakan brazenly invokes Demakan’s name, but Sophien can sense it. Instinctively. The vibrant vitality coursing through his body, the transcendent insight shimmering in his eyes.
Rohakan grins.
“To sate your curiosity, I’ll tell you. Sophien, you’ll come to love Deculein.”
Sophien closes her eyes briefly. Even those simple words bring a flush of heat. Hot blood surges, pounding at her crown.
……An unfamiliar emotion.
Had she ever burned with such anger, even after dying hundreds of times?
Rohakan continues.
“Sophien, I don’t know how you could love someone either. Probably you don’t either. But……”
A faint smile graces Rohakan’s lips.
“I saw your face as you confessed your love to Deculein. Sophien, you were restless with your first emotion in life—”
“Shut your foul mouth! Think such childish romance lingers in me?”
“It did, though? Like a single flower petal.”
“……”
Sophien’s expression hardens. Her eyes narrow slyly. Her face twists askew.
She asks in a voice laced with killing intent.
“Is that why you risked your life to seek me out? To warn me of impossible emotions?”
Rohakan gazes steadily at Sophien. He soon smiles bitterly and shakes his head.
“Sophien. You know it too.”
His tone sinks low.
“Everyone who stays by your side meets misfortune. Without exception.”
Sophien’s killing intent falters.
Her rigid eyes waver faintly, just for a moment.
“That’s the curse you were born with. Knowing that, you keep Kreto at arm’s length, don’t you? That’s why I had no choice but to kill your mother.”
Rohakan eyes the table before him. Upon it sits a snow globe.
“I’m not here to warn you about emotions. I came to protect Deculein.”
Speaking Deculein’s name, he thinks of him.
A man with no talent, hated by his father, armed only with pride.
Through sheer effort, he rose to his position, even saving his mentor’s life once and unearthing a genius like Ifrin.
Through his own insight, he realized the true threat to this world was not Altiegue, but the Altar.
“Sure, as a mentor I gave him nothing—heck, he’s the one who gave to me—but he’s one of my few disciples.”
“……”
“With no kids, nothing left but to die, if I’m to do anything, it’s for my disciple.”
Rohakan gazes quietly at Sophien.
Daughter of Krevaim, yet fated not as human. A monster bearing a curse like chains.
“You loving Deculein is dangerous because you are the one in love.”
Sophien’s mana ripples.
The lamp flickers out, and red moonlight bathes the bedchamber.
“Sophien. You must never love anyone.”
Rohakan slowly rewinds the future he witnessed.
“You confessed your feelings to Deculein.”
At some point, far in the future or near, Sophien confesses to Deculein…….
A little more time passes.
“And with your own hands, you killed him.”
Rohakan saw Sophien kill Deculein.
“That’s why I can’t stand by and watch.”
Sophien stares at him impassively.
“Sophien. If you truly care for Deculein—or come to love him—then I beg you.”
The air grows heavy. A viscous tension clings to their skin.
Silence’s darkness envelops them both.
“Keep your distance from him.”
Even then, the emperor’s expression remains unchanged.
As if unperturbed, she counters Rohakan.
“Is that it? Shameless shaman babble to ‘protect’ Deculein?”
Rohakan smiles brightly.
“I staked my life on coming here, didn’t I?”
……Even so, there’s one more thing left for Deculein.
“Then I’ll be off.”
“Halt. Think you can flee at your whim?”
Sophien chants Rune Language at Rohakan again, but he dismantles it with a gesture.
“No need to rush, Sophien.”
The head of the continent’s worst criminal.
The wretched remainder of an old man’s life.
“We’ll meet again soon enough.”
Rohakan…… will bequeath his final moments to Deculein.
……In northern Recor Dak.
The beast subjugation rages most fiercely here.
“Arrows! No more arrows?!”
Two weeks into full-scale war, Recor Dak’s situation is dire even in empty words.
“Arrows! Bring arrows up here!”
The automated ballistae atop the barrier lack arrows, and the mages are mana-starved.
The knights and prisoners beyond the barrier fare no better.
“Knight Julie! You okay?!”
In Mieolji, the demon-infested forest.
Adventurer-mage Railly shouts. Julie, slashing, freezing, and smashing beasts amid the fray, turns calmly.
“I am fine. However……”
Nearby lay scattered prisoners.
Their breaths stilled like last night’s embers.
Gripping maces or swords in hand, they had fought desperately to the death.
“……No need for a knight’s pity.”
Railly places a hand on her shoulder.
“They’re death-row scum anyway.”
Julie nods.
True enough. Their lives had been chains of evil.
Yet she closes her eyes briefly and murmurs low.
“Even lives of naught but sin hold a shred of worth in death. May they walk another path of atonement there.”
Such a death warranted at least this lament.
Railly joins in silent prayer at Julie’s words.
“……So noble, all on your own?”
A mocking voice. There stood Delik and the imperial knights.
Their faces were shadowed. Gaunt from fatigue and hunger.
“Delik. Are you well?”
“Like hell. Haven’t slept four hours straight in a week. Damn it all.”
Approaching with heavy steps, they grumble complaints first.
With no rest amid the endless push south, the knights’ stamina had plummeted, and a third of Recor Dak’s prisoners lay dead.
Delik asks.
“Knight Julie. You won’t run, will you?”
“No.”
“Hmph. Then you’ll die here. Or rather, Deculein’ll kill you.”
Julie furrows her brow.
Delik, once earnest, now cynical. Exhaustion was understandable, but this flippancy helped no one.
“Then, Sir Delik, do you plan to flee?”
“If the barrier falls, yeah. Looks like it’s only a matter of time. See that wall.”
Delik points to a spot on the barrier.
“Right side’s dented. Recor Dak’s made of stone-mesh iron, near impossible to repair manually, but it self-heals. Still, with beasts swarming like this, it won’t hold easy.”
Even to Julie, the dent was clear. Railly’s eyes widen.
“Mom? How’d I miss that?”
“Three days. That’s all left till it crumbles.”
Delik holds up three fingers.
“It’s lasted weirdly long already. So think hard on your remaining time……”
Then, thin smoke rises from Recor Dak. A sign mealtime was ready.
Julie brightens.
“Food’s prepared.”
“……Damn it. That crap’s all we get, and you’re thrilled?”
Food was vital for knights. Like an elephant needing vast fodder for its bulk, knights devoured near ten times a commoner’s share. Yet Recor Dak skimped on quality—barley gruel and tough meat.
“Treatin’ us like livestock.”
“Sir Delik, this isn’t the palace. Supplies are short; no choice.”
“Hmph! And yet Deculein feasts on delicacies from his mansion, they say.”
“……Did you see it yourself?”
Delik sneers at Julie’s question.
“Obvious! That mansion reeks of luxury. Fine dining for him alone.”
Amid Recor Dak, Delik glares at Deculein’s mansion. Julie follows his gaze.
“Yes. I’ll ask the professor. If true, he must restrain himself. Sir Delik, knights—go eat.”
“……Hmph.”
Delik and the knights trudge down the mountain path. Not a one unscathed—limping legs, bandaged arms, armor scratched everywhere.
“……Yeah, the rumors are real. Deculein eats well alone. Tasty smells around there especially.”
Railly ventures cautiously.
Julie nods softly.
“Asking will reveal the truth.”
Death’s pall hangs heavy over hollowed Recor Dak. Supplies dwindle, battles unending.
Ice Crystal Wolves, trolls, ogres, darklings, gargoyles, flying fiends, mammoths, tigers, and polar bears.
Beasts rare even in the capital hammer the barrier. Defenders’ spirits break. Locals lean on us, oblivious.
Tonight, amid blizzard winds, we harvested field barley. Enough for three days. Fed the folk barley porridge.
Knights got forest game, supplied rice, wheat bread.
Mages, draining mana and mind, need finer fare—so I gave them my mistfish.
Fish I’d caught piecemeal now numbered hundreds; one every other day would last a week at least…….
I am writing the southbound log. For reporting to Sophien, and to detail events honestly for political gain.
I’ve learned, via last edict, how to sway hearts with words.
“……About three weeks left.”
Yet time’s the issue. Rations, cut to bone, last two at best—for tens of thousands here.
Starve inside, flee and die, or fall to beasts breaching the wall.
Many ways to die. One to live: defend Recor Dak.
Knock knock—
A knock, then a voice.
—Professor. Mistfish is ready.
My local aide’s words.
Same time, Julie approaching Deculein’s mansion catches the savory scent wafting from outside.
Sniff sniff—
Absurdly delicious. Frowning-the-brow kind.
“……What is this.”
Julie feels disappointment anew.
She’d thought last time her final letdown—yet here, dismay at his gluttony again.
If this aroma lingered here alone, knights’ gripes made sense.
Julie flings open the mansion door.
“Professor Deculein!”
……And locks eyes with Ifrin right there. Arms full of plates, she tilts her head at Julie.
“……Knight?”
“……Miss Ifrin.”
Julie hardens her expression.
“I have a matter to raise with the professor.”
“Raise?”
“Yes. Regarding the food smells wafting from this mansion—”
“Oh~ this? Special meal for mages.”
“……Pardon?”
Julie’s eyes round at Ifrin’s words.
“……Special meal?”
“Yeah. Professor says mages like high-value assets fighting daily is ‘near madness’…… So every other day, calls ’em here for fish.”
“……”
“Shoulda told you sooner?”
Julie clears her throat awkwardly. Seems she’d misunderstood without full context this time.
She shifts topic slyly.
“……My error in hasty judgment. Then, has the professor been eating well?”
“Oh, professor? Well, he’s…… he’s……”
Professor’s…… professor’s……
Ifrin’s repetition trails off.
She ponders, then realizes something—face paling in shock, she mutters.
“Wait. Hasn’t the professor eaten anything this past week……?”
“……Pardon?”
Julie’s stunned. A bewildering claim.