A Shield of Flesh
He slipped the strike with effortless ease and finished the assassin with a single thrust of his sword.
"Block every path to the Princess!"
His orders came without pause. At the general's command the soldiers scrambled into formation, packing tight around the tent in a desperate attempt to raise a defensive line. Yet the enemy's infiltration had already cut far too deep.
Inside the tent where Aisia waited, a handful of soldiers gripped their hilts and struggled to shield her.
"Your Highness!"
"Minna, at least you must run… I have no strength left…"
There was no time to flee. Terror locked her in place; she bit down hard on her lip. She no longer possessed the fierce magic of former days, nor even a single blade in her hand, so she tried at least to send her maid to safety. When the panicking soldiers seized her arm to drag her away, raw panic surged through her.
"What do you think you're doing!"
"P-please calm yourself, Your Highness…!"
She cried out, yet only her maid's frantic pleas reached her ears; the startled soldiers gave no answer at all.
In the next heartbeat an assassin tore through the tent wall. He ignored the soldiers trying to support her and drove his blade straight for her throat. The keen edge flashed toward Aisia; her nerves still lived, and she twisted aside, but the space was far too narrow. She toppled sideways, barely clearing the steel, and slammed hard against a tent pole.
The blade sliced canvas with a wet rip. Minna threw herself in front of her mistress.
"So you have clung to life this long, Princess of Liberia."
They were after me…?!
The assassin murmured the words in a low voice, a cruel smile curling his lips.
"As of this night, your life ends here."
Aisia tried to gather mana with trembling fingertips, desperate to protect Minna, yet her body refused to obey. The unstable power that had always been her strength failed her completely before this sudden assault; the strength drained by old wounds would not rise again. On any ordinary day she would have crushed an assassin of this caliber without effort.
She knew, with cold certainty, that in this foreign place both she and Minna would die.
So this is truly where I die…
Her vision swayed. For a fleeting instant the bitter thought whispered that death might be kinder than enduring every humiliation, yet the raw animal terror of losing her life boiled up once more.
I want to live—I want to live—I don't want to die—I don't want to die like this…!
In that very moment the assassin's sword fell toward her. There was nowhere left to dodge. She had no choice but to squeeze her eyes shut.
A sharp whistle of air—then a searing impact.
Yet the pain was not hers. The blade never bit into her flesh. Instead a strong hand clamped hard upon her shoulder. She had heard the wet sound of a body being carved open on countless battlefields and believed the wound was her own, yet no agony came.
Has the Goddess granted me mercy… so that I might die without pain…?
The thought had barely formed when a familiar voice cut through the chaos.
"Princess…!"
He had pressed his body flush against hers in a single heartbeat, using every inch of himself as a living barrier so the steel could not reach her. The tip sank deep into his left arm; he clenched his teeth and held.
Aisia's eyes flew open.
"You… why?"
It was Adolf Kareha. He had leapt in by the barest fraction of a second, turning his own arm and torso into a shield to protect her.
"Why…"
She managed the word in a breathless gasp, but he gave her no time for answers. His sword shot forward and pierced the assassin's heart clean through.
"Are you unharmed?"
He shoved the corpse aside and turned to check her, yet Aisia only trembled as she stared at him. Bright crimson poured from his arm; already the red was seeping through the joints of his armor. Shock and confusion warred inside her; she could only look at him, unable to speak.
Why would this man throw his own body away to keep her safe? All this time she had been certain he meant to use her as a shield—yet the one who had become the shield was him.
"Get outside at once. This place is already too dangerous!"
He reached to seize her hand, but she recoiled on pure instinct. The old suspicion had not yet fully died.
"I… I'm fine…!"
Her voice cracked as she forced the words out and pushed herself upright. The moment her shaking legs took a single step, the clash of battle still raged beyond the tent walls.
"She must be kept alive!"
Imperial soldiers roared as they met the assassins, yet the enemy's numbers and skill were no small threat. Steel rang on steel, metal tore, and screams tangled together, echoing through the bleak night air. Even then more assassins closed in around the tent, eyes fixed on Aisia.
"Eliminate the Princess!"
A sharp voice cut from the darkness; three shadows began to circle the firelight.
"This way! There is nowhere left to hide!"
One assassin advanced, sword already swinging. In that instant Adolf Kareha stepped forward, breathing hard and ragged. The soldiers around him tried to hold him back, but a single icy glance stopped them cold.
"Stand aside."
Blood-soaked killing intent rode his voice. Even the allies who trusted him utterly flinched. Pain from the wound in his left arm must have been fierce, yet he raised his sword high without the slightest tremor.
"I know not what you desire. But whatever it may be, it shall not come to pass."
His declaration fell like winter frost. The assassins sneered at the half-crippled general and struck as one. Blades flashed from every side; Adolf Kareha slipped or turned each tip with the grace of a dancer. Blood from the gash in his left arm made the limb grow heavier by the second, yet every time his footwork sparked with brilliant cunning and carried him clear of the killing lines.
How hard had he trained? He had driven himself like a madman so that the world his beloved family lived in might be protected. Something of this level he could manage with his eyes closed. If mere pain had ever been enough to stop him from moving, the man he was now would never have been born.
Steel met steel; sparks leapt; short screams tore the air. Two assassins crumpled. The last one, however, lunged in from the flank and charged straight at Aisia.
"I'll end your life for you!"
His blade whistled toward her. In the same breath Adolf Kareha seized the man with his left hand, pouring every remaining ounce of strength into the grip. A groan of agony ripped from the wounded arm, yet he clenched his teeth and refused to let go.
"The only place you belong is the afterlife."
His right-hand sword flashed. The assassin had no chance to counter; his head left his shoulders and he toppled backward.
The brief, savage clash ended. The reek of blood hung thick around the tent. Aisia was already shaking from the shock. Adolf walked toward her as though nothing were amiss. The soft drip of blood striking the ground rang louder across the battlefield than any earlier clash of blades.
"Are you injured anywhere?"
The attendants and medical soldiers who had been near her stood frozen in terror; Adolf Kareha remained on his feet only by gripping his wounded arm.
"I'm unhurt… but you…"
Aisia whispered the words, her eyes trembling. He did not look away as he set the bloodied sword carefully on the ground.
"A healer is required at once. You yourself may not be free of injury."
"I'm all right…"
She said it, yet every part of her body ached and her mind was far from steady. Above all else, the truth that stunned her was this: the man she had endlessly doubted and hated had truly thrown his own body between her and death.
If it had been nothing but politics, he would never have gone this far…
Confusion stirred through her own thoughts. The blood falling from his arm struck the earth and sent a matching tremor through her heart. The scene before her eyes alone seemed proof that his actions were no pretense.
Just then a shout rose from outside.
"We've driven them off! There seems to be no further infiltration!"
Even so, the earlier fighting had left many wounded and the damage was heavy. Soldiers hurried to restore order; medical officers came running from every direction to tend the injured.
"Here? Is the situation finished?"
An aide burst into the tent, took in the scene, and froze in shock.
"General—are you all right? The blood…"
"Begin emergency treatment first."
Adolf Kareha's voice remained perfectly calm.
"Examine the Princess before anything else."
The aide approached Aisia with careful steps and checked her condition.
"Your Highness, are you wounded anywhere?"
She still wore the dazed look of someone who had not yet escaped the shock, yet she gave a small shake of her head.
"No serious wounds on me… Look after Sir Kareha instead."
"Thank the heavens."
The aide bowed in relief. Since the day she had been taken hostage, Aisia had never once addressed Kareha as "Sir." No one noticed the change. They had always held the general's almost miraculous achievements in such deep respect that the new form of address from the Princess simply sounded natural.
"Most of the assassins have been slain. A few fled; once we finish the head count a pursuit party will ride out."
While temporary bandages were being wrapped around his wound, Adolf Kareha lifted his gaze and stared into the darkness beyond the tent.
"I cannot yet say who sent them, but they clearly struck at our weakness. Especially in making the Princess their target…"
He broke off, face tightening as fresh pain lanced from the arm. Even as he groaned under the hurt, he knew something was deeply wrong: that they would aim for a princess still broken by the aftermath of a mana rampage was no ordinary design.
"Nngh…"
When the bandage pulled tight and a sharp jolt of pain shot through him, nearby soldiers rushed forward with more cloth and medicinal herbs to finish the emergency care. Aisia watched every moment of it. The rumors painted him as a blood-mad butcher, yet the image of him flinging his whole body forward to save the woman who had nearly died only moments earlier kept replaying in her mind.
"Is the wound… deep?"
She asked in a small, hesitant voice. He did not turn his head; the answer was brief.
"It will be fine once treated. Do not concern yourself."
"Concern…"
She turned the word over and felt a strange emotion rise. That she should worry for this man's safety was something she could never have imagined before.
Night deepened. The camp had passed through the crisis. Surviving soldiers tended the wounded and gathered the bodies of fallen comrades. Aisia stepped out of the tent and fell silent at the wretched sight.
"Another battlefield, right here…"
One soldier sighed. For men of the Wurt Empire—who were said to love war—their reaction to the carnage was surprisingly raw; a quiet question stirred in Aisia's mind.
"To come all this way only to see blood again…"
She carefully scanned the surroundings and found Adolf Kareha in a quiet corner of the camp, bandaged arm held close, steadying his breath. His aide worked busily beside him, reorganizing maps; though the fighting had ended, orders continued to strengthen the watch against any further surprise attack.
"General, that wound will need further treatment."
When the imperial magic healer spoke, Adolf Kareha silently extended his arm. The cloth was drawn back; the raw red gash stood out clearly, and a faint glow of healing magic began to gather around it.
"I can scarcely believe the General would take a wound this severe."
The healer unwound the bandage and examined the injury. Every time he had seen Kareha before, the man had been overwhelming. Even on far bloodier fields the general's limbs had always emerged whole—perhaps because of sheer natural talent. Yet this time the damage was serious. Everyone who looked upon the wound understood at once that something was amiss.
"Full recovery of the arm will require time. Strenuous movement is forbidden."
Adolf Kareha gave a single cold nod.