Toward the Front Lines - 2
Morning had slipped past, and the sun was climbing diligently toward its highest point in the sky.
The Emperor and her entourage finally arrived at the main gate of the Imperial Capital.
More precisely, at the place that had once been the main gate of the Imperial Capital.
The gate was utterly wrecked, its form unrecognizable.
The Emperor could scarcely trust her own eyes, and so she decided to step down and confirm it herself.
Leaving Akan and Lloyd behind in the carriage—both of them looking haggard and thoroughly spent—she climbed out.
"Wh-what... what in the world is this..."
She tried to recall the last time she had been this shaken, and realized this was only the second.
The first had been the day she witnessed the miracle of the First Saintess and the Stars, when the sky itself had shattered like glass. Nothing would ever surpass that.
Her skeletal hands trembling, she moved closer to the gate. When she realized her eyes had not deceived her, she felt as though her mind might collapse.
The Saintess and the Hero?
That was the first thought that came to her.
They were invaluable assets—and at the same time, they were meant to serve as the critical stabilizers that would keep the front lines from collapsing.
If either of them had been killed or seriously wounded, it would mean a crisis grave enough to force her to revise her entire plan.
When the Emperor appeared at the capital's main gate, the guards and laborers who had been busy dealing with the aftermath hurriedly stopped their work and prepared to bow to her.
It looked as though they were worshipping an idol other than the Stars—and in truth, that was exactly what they were doing.
A ruler who lived forever and governed the nation could only become an idol.
It was inevitable.
The Emperor opened her mouth to stop them from bowing, said, "Rise," and then asked them a question.
"How did this happen?"
One of the guards answered.
"Two Calamities attacked."
The Emperor was not surprised.
She had expected that one or two Calamities would come if they were going to cause this level of destruction.
The Saintess and the Hero were never a force the Calamities could afford to ignore.
"Which ones?"
In the end, the Emperor's question never strayed from Which Calamities?
"Spring and Summer."
Ha—
When the Emperor exhaled a sigh, the laborers and guards nearby felt a faint chill spreading from the ground and shivered slightly.
The cold of the dead, taking the form of a white frost-wind, slowly seeped between the bricks and spread in every direction.
The Emperor realized she had unintentionally lost control of her emotions and released her mana, and she apologized to them.
"My apologies."
The low-ranking guard who had suddenly found himself receiving the Emperor's apology up close hurriedly stammered things like "Ah, no, not at all!" and "It's fine!" as he watched the Emperor walk into the capital on foot.
Then he saw two suspicious men approaching behind her, and thinking it was his turn to act, he walked toward them.
He had a vague suspicion they might be part of the Emperor's entourage, but he couldn't imagine the Emperor being acquainted with such a young man and a vulgar-looking bald fellow—so he took action.
"Halt! I'll need to check your papers."
From the black-haired man's side came a muttered "What a pain..." but the guard intended to do his duty thoroughly.
Then, when they handed over their passes, the low-ranking guard froze solid.
The Emperor's seal was stamped on the passes.
Passes that only a handful of Superhumans and the Hero had ever received—meaning the two he had been about to inspect were...
The moment that thought struck him, the guard hurriedly returned the passes and apologized.
There were rumors that some of the more foul-tempered ones had buried an entire territory in a blizzard over something as minor as a bumped shoulder, so he had to be careful with his behavior.
"My apologies!"
The massively built bald man standing blankly behind and watching him briefly met his eyes, but when the black-haired man said, "It's fine," they simply walked past.
Realizing they had forgotten to take their passes back, he held them up high and shouted, "You forgot these!"—but the reply he received was more than enough to leave him speechless.
"Just ask the guy who went ahead to write you another one. It's fine."
Just like that, the guard found himself in possession of one of the Empire's rarest passes.
The man himself, unable to fully grasp his great fortune, could only mutter inwardly, The Emperor... that guy...? and stand there in stunned disbelief.
The Saintess and the Hero had not suffered any major wounds, but after watching the priests and doctors finish their formal examinations and leave, they both lay down on the beds at the same time.
They were in the same room, but the church infirmary beds were sized for only one person, so they each lay on separate beds, drew back the curtains, glanced at each other for a moment, then looked away.
One averted his eyes because he was looking at the woman he loved lying in bed; the other simply felt shy, unused to receiving a man's gaze.
And so the two of them, occupying the same space yet thinking different thoughts, were lying in bed recovering and letting the tension of battle drain away when the church door suddenly opened.
It was not the sound of an ordinary person, but the creaking of bones and the threads that tuned them.
Thinking it might be an undead monster, the Hero grabbed the Holy Sword beside him—then immediately set it down.
The Saintess rose from the bed as calmly as if she already knew who it was, and rustled about arranging her hair with familiar ease.
It was a very practiced skill.
The one who appeared was the Emperor.
A skeleton who possessed the proper name of Osis, yet was always called by the other symbol of "Emperor"—that figure now simply stood before their eyes and watched them.
"I'm glad," was all she said before turning and walking out.
A swift entrance and a swift exit.
The Hero and the Saintess knew that she was a far more affectionate person than her outward appearance suggested, so they felt no offense at her awkwardness.
One had already experienced it; the other had already seen it—so they both knew.
In short, the Emperor was the shy type.
With those she was close to, she dropped all formalities. Stay at the front lines long enough, come and go from the capital often enough to share a few drinks, and the thick walls would come down—she was a person of good character once you got past that.
The two who appeared after her were enough to startle both the Saintess and the Hero.
A black-haired man who, at a glance, looked somewhat similar to the Hero, and a massively built bald man entered the church.
The Hero and the Saintess recognized them immediately.
Akan, Master of the Magic Tower. Lloyd, the Battle Mage.
By their other names:
The Flowing Star, the Star of Flowing—Akan.
The Moving Star, the Star of Grit—Lloyd.
I didn't think we'd meet them this soon... If I recruit them as companions now, we can clear this for sure with a stable party.
In her haste, the Saintess quickly found the pen she had tucked in the drawer and wrote a message on paper.
Would you care to join me at the front lines?
Making a recruitment offer at first sight was unnatural, but their existence was so extraordinary that she was willing to take that risk.
The Saintess swallowed hard, tense at the thought they might refuse.
The Hero simply watched her do this.
She made a recruitment offer the moment she met them last time too.
The Hero recalled the first time the Saintess had met them, overlaying her with the version of her from the previous cycle.
And the Hero already knew what answer Akan would give.
"I refuse."
Lloyd, watching from the side, wore an expression that said he couldn't understand why the offer had been rejected.
Forming a classic party of Hero, Saintess, mage, and frontliner was ideal, and having such a stable party at the front lines could open a breakthrough.
What's the reason?
The Saintess began questioning, desperate to find any opening to argue back, clutching at straws.
"I'm more comfortable alone."
"If you want to go, you go, Lloyd."
Lloyd thought for a moment, then said:
"I'll stay by Master's side."
"That's the higher chance of survival."
The Saintess had thought the recruitment would succeed.
After all, in the game, they had never refused.
But this was reality, and reality was cold.
There was no reason for Akan—a difficult, foul-tempered mage—to join someone he had never even met.
Akan sent his disciple outside, then crouched in the temporary lodging and muttered to himself.
That she really looked exactly like her.