Winter Solstice (3)
The banshee's wail blended with the howling wind, growing ever thicker. From the spots where ash scattered, the legions of the dead began to rise. The yew ash carried on the breeze fell amid the crowd of spirits. Suddenly, a soldier's specter burst from atop one clever spirit's shoulder, while ghostly mages emerged as if sprouting from the shadows.
Armed was taken aback. At this rate, most of her specialties were sealed off. She'd cast other spells, but her forte was wide-area destructive magic. She couldn't hurl bombs into a throng of spirits. Was this part of the conspiracy too? Armed's gaze turned toward where the countess and her children had gathered. Ermiha and Hekedian. Her half-siblings' eyes were filled with bewilderment. They might crave power, but they weren't the type to resort to such heartless schemes.
Esarg Countess. She feigned composure, but she was ceaselessly chanting protective spells over her children. Her demeanor was too frantic for the mastermind behind this crisis. The most peculiar reaction came from Helbrinke Countess. Her face was etched with despair, yet she made no move to shield her son. Dwarves rarely showed their family bonds outwardly, but they were deeply affectionate inside. The Helbrinke that Armed knew would have done something for her child, just like Esarg.
But she seemed unable to move—as if frozen. Kriel sensed something off. The moment he'd drawn Tuon and leaped into the midst of the wraiths, he'd felt the dissonance. The spectral legions weren't moving. They simply stood frozen in the spots where they'd manifested.
Soon, the living noticed the anomaly too. The spirits withdrew from the wraiths, heading toward the area where the count's retainers were. They were skilled mages, and above all, Kriel was there. Even as the crowd slipped through the wraiths, the Wild Hunt's silent vigil continued.
Those who'd joined the calamity puppets fled to Armed's side. Kriel felt a sense of déjà vu. It had been like this before. Everyone fleeing in one direction while he alone swam against the current. He gripped Tuon tightly and advanced toward the wraiths.
"Hey, Kriel!"
"Armed. Take the spirits inside the castle. And..."
He couldn't articulate solid reasoning, but Kriel's instincts screamed that they needed to find Ket Count. Last time, the Wild Hunt hadn't arrived until after the count collapsed. The situation now was similar. All the family had shown up to observe the Winter Solstice festival, leaving the count alone in the castle. There were guards, but no mages among them. Even accounting for the castle's protective wards, it was the perfect moment for infiltration.
"Protect your father."
"Damn it, we've got Society folks planted near the lord's castle! You think I wouldn't worry about Dad?!"
Armed jabbed a finger at Ermiha and Hekedian. In normal times, this would have drawn a barrage of sharp words, but there was no time for that now.
"You two!"
Armed undid her hair tie, balled it up like a projectile, and lobbed it between them. Hekedian barely snatched it from the air.
"Fuck, I'm going with Kriel! Use the Society guys however!"
"Sis, what about the territory folk!?"
"You lead them."
It was a firm command. But not heartless. Armed spoke with the utmost calm she could muster in the moment.
"They're Ket's people. Your subjects. Got it? I was planning to leave this land after the festival anyway. I don't know which of you will become lord, but the ones who have to embrace them are you two."
Her half-siblings were dumbfounded, but they knew what needed doing. They rallied their own retainers and began herding the people toward the castle.
"I'm going with Kriel to get a look at this Wraith King's mug. Missed it last time."
Kriel gave a wry smile.
"It's a one-on-one duel. The moment you butt in, it gets more dangerous. For me, and for you."
Kriel scooped Armed into his arms and dashed westward. He'd chosen this method since he couldn't break her stubbornness. It was in a place where human shapes faded into the gloom, and their dark attire melted into the night.
"Hold up, set me down here."
Suddenly? Kriel questioned it but complied, lowering her. The slender arms around his neck slipped away as Armed whispered,
"I know this situation's fishy too. That's why we need a sneak attack. Let the ill omen think I've gone outside and drop their guard. The Society mages have the castle exterior locked down tight, so if something happened, it's inside."
"Got a way in?"
"I've been a tomboy since I was a kid. Dug a few secret passages myself."
"In the guest room where I was staying, there's Orishin and the cloak. Orishin knows a lot despite appearances, and the cloak's brimming with holy power. They'll help."
Kriel nodded. The situation was urgent; decisions had to be swift. Just as he turned to go—
"Kriel. Win and come back."
To ease her tension, Kriel replied playfully.
"No armor. And this isn't even my usual sword."
Tuon's blade quivered. A complaint that she was far superior to that oversized, crude greatsword, size aside. He'd removed the cloak to match his formal wear, so he couldn't summon the armor. The champion's emblem called the armor, but it was stored in the cloak's shadow.
Armed sighed. She'd been the one to say the cloak didn't match and to leave it off. If she'd known, she'd have taken his suggestion: it's cold outside, and it pairs with your dress—drape the cloak like a shawl.
'That saintess made it... didn't want to seem petty refusing!'
With a sigh, Armed replied in jest. But her words brimmed with sincerity.
"You wouldn't know, but in a knight's duel, the side with a lady to dedicate his honor to always wins."
Her claiming to be his lady. Kriel invoked a knightly adage.
"The glory of victory is yours, the shame of defeat mine. Whatever the outcome of this strife, your nobility shall never fade."
"Screw defeat. Just win."
The one possessing Dein's mechanical body waited, puffing on incense. Even Wild Hunt members weren't immune to annihilation. Layered causes—lingering regrets, contracts, dragon flames, demon death throes—made them seem infinitely resurrectable, but damage beyond a threshold could destroy them. In theory, repeated such attacks could eradicate the Wild Hunt, or at least the Wraith King and his legions.
But theory remained theory. The Wraith King's limit was unmeasured, and his forces didn't just dwindle—they grew. He harvested souls of the worthy to bolster his ranks. The authority to command souls was his, but he delegated it to his generals. Perhaps those strong and honorable enough to slay his champions deserved recruitment.
'No matter...'
The Wraith King's legions had their own 'mercy.' Northern chills tales, reapers claiming lives before dawn—part originated from the Wild Hunt. They offered fallen mighty a new form. Even Ket Count, now bedridden, would receive such 'mercy.'
The possessor was certain. Whoosh—sudden wind carried a bone-chilling frost. No open windows in the lord's bedchamber, hearth still blazing, yet the cold was vivid.
Right beside the lord's bed, a headless knight appeared, gripping a blunt-tipped executioner's sword. All metal from hilt to blade, intricate gold inlays etched throughout. His free hand held a helmet—his skull doubtless beneath it.
The Evil Dragon poison burned here was denser than in the calamity puppets. The Wraith King had sent a trusted lieutenant to where his rival's echo lingered strongest. Here, they'd end the fading mage's path. Surely with 'mercy.' A mage's pinnacle manifested in body and soul. They'd pity his soul's dimming glow amid decaying flesh.
"...Why?"
Yet the headless knight's blade didn't fall. From manifestation, it stood motionless, sword plunged into the floor.
A failed summoning? No. The chill, gathering snowflakes outside, raging storm-wind proved the Wraith King's arrival.
"Dullahan! Why do you not move?!"
Then, from the Dullahan's weathered helm, a voice emanated.
The Dullahan's chilling voice reverberated. No, not an echo. The chorus of every Wild Hunt force in Ket County cried as one, resounding like echoes. This wasn't even a reply to the outburst. It was the legions' hymn to the approaching challenger.