Angelica's Memories
A man with a pallid face swung his sword across the battlefield. Shunk. Dark red blood sprayed into the air. Of course, it wasn't the man's blood. It belonged to some unknown beastkin male. No one could say how many he'd cut down by now—his armor was drenched in gore.
"Haa... haa..." He exhaled raggedly as he slowly rose to his feet. When he yanked his blade free from the beastkin's neck, blood gushed out in a thick surge. "Die, you filthy humans!" "Hold the line! Maintain formation!" "Help me... please, help..." "My—my arm! My arm's been cut off—my arm—!" "Get away! I don't want to die!"
If hell truly existed, this had to be it. The battlefield was a maelstrom of screams, agony, and death. Yet this hellish scene only fueled their frenzy. Those who tasted blood were seized by an inexplicable madness, eyes bloodshot as they drove the enemy back without mercy.
"Hahahahaha! Die, you goddamn mutts!" "Was this place a livestock pen? Nothing but beasts as far as the eye can see!"
The tension between the allied beastkin forces and the human coalition was lethal. Neither side granted the other even a moment's respite; the fighting never ceased. The man had already gone days without sleep, swinging his sword through endless nights. He had to stay on guard even while eating, during strategy meetings, even when taking a single sip of water. His sword hand trembled violently. His body had long since reached its limit. Without his superhuman willpower, he would have collapsed unconscious long ago.
"Human!" A werewolf appeared from nowhere and lunged for his throat. The man tightened his grip on the shaking hilt and slipped into the creature's blind spot. The werewolf had anticipated the charge; it raised its claws and brought them down hard toward his head. Clang! A jarring metallic screech rang out as claw met steel. Their struggle lasted only seconds. The man twisted his blade and severed the werewolf's neck in one clean stroke. Thud. Another beast's corpse joined the growing pile on the field. Once again, he was the survivor.
He shook the blood from his sword and surveyed the chaos. In the sky, colossal dragons spewed fire without restraint. On the ground, their followers hurled magic relentlessly. Soldiers struck by dragon breath vanished without leaving so much as a corpse. Others hit by stray spells from orc shamans dropped dead without ever knowing what killed them.
A wave of revulsion rose from deep within him. Was there truly any point in continuing this meaningless war? He crushed the thought before it could take root. This was a battlefield. There was no room for deeper reflection. He gripped his sword once more and charged, cutting down everything in his path until his strength gave out. Slash. Kill. That was all the swordsman allowed himself to think.
Imperial Calendar, Year 543 — The Age of Humanity's Ascent.
It was the most glorious era in human history, when mankind flourished as never before. It was also the age when thousands of Transcendents roamed the land—and when humanity shed more blood than at any other time.
"You actually made it back alive today?"
"Don't say it so lightly. Some of us are risking our lives out there."
"Haaam. As long as you're not dead, what's the problem?"
She yawned, stretched, then flopped back onto the bed and wriggled under the covers.
"Haa..." This lazy dragon seemed to have no concept of danger. If anyone entered her quarters, her life would be in immediate peril. Yet she spent her days without a care, lounging in bed and sleeping to her heart's content.
"How was it today?"
Angelica sat up from where she'd been lying down.
"Forty-three, at least."
"Only that many?"
She narrowed her eyes and pressed him.
"...Couldn't be helped. Lord Cromwell was injured, so just holding the line was already pushing it. A Dragon Lord decided to show up and everything went to hell."
"Huh? Those cowards actually came to the battlefield?"
"Hundreds of them died in the eastern campaign. They must've felt threatened."
"Hmm... I wonder if those lizards even have that kind of intelligence."
Angelica probably didn't realize she was included among those "lizards." He desperately wanted to point it out, but he knew it would only make her sulk, so he kept quiet.
"Where did that kid Cromwell get hurt?"
She was probably the only person in the entire human camp who could call a 120-year-old man a "kid."
"A Dragon Lord's breath burned his upper body. His right arm melted clean off—nothing left but bone. If it hadn't been him, he would've died of shock on the spot."
"That must hurt... By the way, did you get a good look at that Dragon Lord?"
"Not really. We were too far apart, and I was so exhausted my vision was blurry. From what I remember, it was reddish-brown and over sixty meters long."
"Mmm..." She pondered for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't know. It's been too long since I left my lair—"
Knock knock.
A knock sounded at the door before she could finish.
"Lieutenant Colonel, it's Garpil. May I enter?"
"W-wait! Hold on, Second Lieutenant. I'm changing my pants right now."
"Understood, sir."
He calmly gestured for Angelica to hide under the bed. Instead, she perched on the edge of the mattress and grinned at him, clearly enjoying his predicament. He leaned in and whispered into her ear so the man outside wouldn't hear.
"Please. Just get under there."
"Nope... don't wanna!"
Angelica flashed a mischievous smile and sprawled across the bed. He felt a vein throb at his temple. He was already exhausted; at this rate, he'd go bald from the stress.
So you want to play it that way?
He approached the bed and yanked the blanket up, covering her from head to toe. She struggled beneath it, trying to push it off.
Not a chance.
He pinned her arms and sat on the bed, calling out to Garpil.
"You may enter now, Second Lieutenant."
Realizing she might actually be discovered, Angelica went still beneath the blanket. The door creaked open. Garpil stepped inside and saluted. After shifting position so Angelica wouldn't be visible, he returned the salute and asked what the man wanted.
"So, what brings you here?"
Garpil looked exhausted, his face drawn beneath his cap. The battle had only just ended.
"The casualty list you requested, sir. The other units' records were incomplete, so I compiled just our battalion's."
"...I did ask for that. Thank you. You may go."
"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel."
"Pwah!"
The moment the second lieutenant left, she threw off the blanket and gulped in air.
I thought I was going to suffocate.
"I was just teasing you a little. Did you really have to go that far?"
She lightly punched his back with a fist that held no real force. He didn't react.
What's wrong?
Silently, she sat beside Cloud and glanced at his face. He was staring at the casualty list with bloodshot eyes, his expression twisted in anguish too raw for words.
Poor Cloud...
She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.
"Are you sad?"
"...I don't know," he answered in a hollow voice.
"Does it hurt?"
He shook his head.
"Are you scared?"
Cloud said nothing. She opened her eyes and lifted her head. He was biting his lip, face contorted, still unable to look away from the names of the dead.
The sight of him was unbearable. It looked as though he were carrying everything alone, forcing himself to endure. She grabbed his head and pulled him into a tight embrace. His wide-eyed surprise was almost endearing.
Like a puppy.
"Angelica—"
"Shh."
She pressed a finger to his lips.
Don't start lecturing me like an idiot.
But not today. Today, she had decided to comfort him.
"It was hard, wasn't it?"
His body flinched. She knew his plan. In fact, she was probably the only one besides Cloud himself who did. That was why she was the only one who could truly empathize, the only one who could grieve with him.
"It was painful, wasn't it?"
His hands trembled. She held him tighter.
Cloud had never been suited for the battlefield. He cared too deeply to be a proper commander. He couldn't cut ties the way others did. He gave his heart but could never take it back. Hundreds of the soldiers under his command died every single day, and their places were filled by new recruits. Even after countless farewells, he had never grown accustomed to loss. He simply buried the pain deep inside, using his heart as a dumping ground until the accumulated sorrow eventually poisoned him.
But—
"It's all right."
Because she would stay by his side. She would comfort him, laugh with him, cry with him—so that he would never fall ill from the weight of his own heart.
So—
"It's all right."
Tears spilled from Cloud's eyes. He buried his face in her embrace and sobbed like a child. She gently stroked his hair.
You don't have to pretend to be strong in front of me. If you want to cry, cry. If you want to act spoiled, that's fine too. You can do anything in front of me.
Yes... only in front of me.
"Hah... hah..."
She woke with a strangled gasp. Her nightclothes clung damply to her skin, soaked through. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she felt it come away slick with sweat.
It's been a while since I dreamed of that. A dream of Cloud that I never wanted to see again.
"Achoo."
Her body felt freezing. A chill ran through her, her heart clenched, and her throat burned. She needed emotion. More emotion.
She turned her head. Sirmiia lay sleeping beside her like an angel—adorable, lovable. But it wasn't enough. She needed far more.
She pulled the sleeping girl into her arms without hesitation. Sirmiia woke with a startled yelp.
"Angelica...?"
Her drowsy, half-asleep expression was unbearably endearing. Angelica leaned in and whispered against her ear.
"Cry for me right now, Sirmiia."
"...What?"
There was no time for explanations. She used the same simple method she always did.
Smack.
Even though she'd been struck out of nowhere in the middle of the night, Sirmiia didn't get angry. Instead of raging, she apologized.
That's not what I want.
Sirmiia kept apologizing, but Angelica didn't care about apologies. She only wanted to quench the burning thirst inside her. She struck Sirmiia's cheek again and again. The girl begged and pleaded, but Angelica didn't stop.
No. That's not it, Sirmiia. That's not it.
Her throat was on fire. She hit harder. Sirmiia's lips split, her cheeks tore, blood trickling down. Only when the girl finally burst into tears did the searing thirst begin to fade. Tension drained from her body, and a sense of peace settled over her heart.
Even then, Sirmiia continued to sob wretchedly, her face covered in blood as she apologized over and over. The sight was more pitiful than usual—and because of that, it was even more precious to Angelica.