Your War, My War (7)
Thud. It was the sound of Christine collapsing to the ground. The mages had been shaping spells from a relatively safe position, well behind the front lines. The guilt of not fighting alongside the soldiers, the sense of responsibility for those dying to monster attacks, and the duty to save them drove Christine forward.
“Christine!”
The mages rushed toward her fallen form. All of them had left the Magic Tower to enlist in the army. They grabbed Christine’s arms and tried to lift her.
“I’m fine.”
Christine shook off their hands and pushed herself up from the ground. She placed her hand over the spell formation that was still being built. Her mana flowed through the magic circle, and information about the spell flooded back to her.
It was still insufficient.
“If we push a little harder, we can complete the third spell.”
Though she voiced an optimistic outlook, time was needed to replenish her depleted mana. Of course, the longer Christine took, the more soldiers would die on the front lines. She clenched her teeth.
“Christine, if you collapse from exhaustion and lose consciousness, the spell’s construction will only slow down further.”
One mage spoke with concern. The more they said such things, the more Christine’s stubbornness flared. A pure white light gathered at her fingertips.
“Christine!”
“…There’s really only a little left. If I can’t hold on now, the situation will become truly dangerous…”
Christine pushed away the arm blocking her path.
“Because something will happen…”
Then she flinched as she felt a hand settle on her shoulder.
“You’re constructing quite a decent spell. Flame attribute, not too high in difficulty, but considerable destructive power.”
The voice carried a leisurely tone, as if entirely unconcerned with the urgent atmosphere of the battlefield. Christine shook off the hand and turned around.
“Still as sharp a reaction as ever.”
Dozens of mages stood in robes. The deep green robes were the formal attire worn by the Magic Tower when conducting official business. Christine looked at the Tower professors evaluating the magic circle with a complicated gaze.
“We’ve come to help, Christine. For now, let’s set aside the past and focus only on subjugating Behemoth. However…”
“…So you’ve finally arrived.”
The professor examined Christine’s complexion, then gave a small snort.
“Judging by your condition, you don’t seem particularly helpful for constructing magic. Just how large a spell were you trying to shape?”
Christine did not answer. At the professor’s gesture, several mages approached. They handed him a transparent vial. Inside, a vivid blue liquid sloshed. The professor accepted the vial and showed it to Christine.
“It’s a potion that aids in mana recovery. If you want to be of help, you’d best drink this.”
Christine squinted at the vial.
“You expect me to trust the medicine you’re offering?”
“Whether you trust it or not is your choice, Christine. I simply thought you still possessed enough judgment to assess the situation.”
Clatter. The vial rolled and came to rest at Christine’s feet. She glared fiercely at the professor, but he merely shrugged. There was no other option. Christine picked up the vial. Seeing this, the professor clapped his hands and gathered the mages.
“Well then, let’s complete this spell.”
Christine sighed as she watched the magic approach completion with startling speed. Then, after a moment of conflict while staring at the vial, she finally opened the lid and emptied it in one go. A burning sensation filled her stomach, and her mana began recovering rapidly.
“Dispatching mages from the Magic Tower…”
One of the mages who had been constructing spells with Christine spoke up. Army mages generally did not get along well with the Magic Tower, except in special cases. The mage faced the professor and snapped in a tense voice.
“Did you send mages like this fifteen years ago as well?”
The professor sighed.
“Back then, no one understood the gravity of the situation. Who could have known that such a monster would appear again? We all thought Behemoth was a creature that existed only in myths and old tales.”
“So now you’ve sent mages like this.”
“That’s right.”
The mage’s voice turned harsh.
“A selfish group like yours…”
“We may be selfish, but we’re not foolish enough to fail to sense our own crisis. The Tower Lord made a swift decision.”
The professor turned his head to look at the mages completing the spell.
“So for now, shall we focus only on bringing down Behemoth? We can waste time fighting each other after the war ends.”
The mage could find no words to retort. Eventually giving up on anger, he watched as the completed spell formation unfolded into the sky.
“The spell design was decent. Quite impressive, really.”
The magic circle began to glow red. The surrounding mana churned with hostile energy, as if ready to spew forth a massive blaze at any moment.
“We enlarged the scale a bit.”
A fireball that could be called a sun appeared. The fireballs began plummeting toward the battlefield where the slaughter was raging. The spheres of flame fell upon the monsters’ heads. Divine punishment—or perhaps human punishment, as the professor laughed and called it. The lesser monsters had mostly been cleared by the knights and magic. His gaze turned toward the monster still burning, Behemoth. The professor’s expression twisted with discomfort once more. Behemoth seemed entirely unaffected by the knights attacking it.
“We’ll need to prepare another spell.”
Then Christine stepped forward. Her complexion had improved somewhat, color returning to her face.
“…What’s this about?”
“There’s one spell I’ve been thinking about.”
Christine spoke while gazing at the platinum light rising in the distance.
“Just this once, please cooperate.”
As falling flames punished the world with fire and horses charged forward with valiant cries, the monsters Behemoth had brought were literally crushed. Monster heads were trampled beneath hooves. Behemoth, struck directly by the large-scale magic once more, staggered for the first time. The supreme commander of the kingdom’s forces was the vice-captain of the Royal Guard Knight Order. He held a massive cavalry lance at his side. Aura swirled around the charging lance. Knights capable of manifesting aura formed ranks and charged, cleaving through monsters.
“The target is Behemoth!”
The supreme commander declared in a resounding voice. The knights maintained formation as if they had become a single blade and surged toward Behemoth.
“For the kingdom—!”
The charging knights collided with Behemoth. With a thunderous roar, the first impact erupted in brilliant light. Of course, none of them had expected to inflict meaningful damage with a single strike. Behemoth reeled. Theodora watched as the kingdom’s finest knights began coordinating to assault a single target. With each attack, Behemoth let out an irritated growl. The last remaining monsters rushed in to drive the knights away, only to have their limbs severed the moment they approached. Swords and spears spewed aura, relentlessly striking at Behemoth’s legs. Swordsmanship at the pinnacle of technique pierced Behemoth’s hide. Aura clashed with aura, gradually wearing down Behemoth’s stamina.
The supreme commander abandoned his horse and leapt upward, using Behemoth’s foreleg as a stepping stone.
“Die!”
The cavalry lance drove straight into Behemoth’s leg. Behemoth unleashed a roar. The knights desperately hoped that roar carried even a trace of pain. Behemoth was gradually losing balance. The knights’ attacks grew fiercer in response. A cracking sound rang out, and finally Behemoth collapsed forward onto its forelegs. Support troops began approaching Behemoth. The journey to drag down a god and end the kingdom’s eternal war had begun.
A massive hook flew through the air and caught on Behemoth’s hide. Of course, no hook could pierce that hide, so it merely lodged there. Behemoth, occupied by the knights assaulting it, had no attention to spare for the hook.
“Pull!”
The magically reinforced ropes were anchored to the ground. Only then did Behemoth seem to notice the hooks embedded in its body and let out an enraged roar. It strained against them, but the ropes held firm without breaking.
“Knights, raise your aura to the maximum!”
The supreme commander looked as though he had already won the war. The aura swirling around his cavalry lance produced the sound of a whirlwind. The other knights followed suit, drawing up their aura.
“We will put an end to this war!”
The knights raised their swords in unison. It resembled a scene from a whaling ship hunting a great whale—dozens of people swarming one massive creature, stabbing with spears and blades, yet the hunted paid them no mind. Of course, if the attacks accumulated and drew blood, even a great whale could eventually be brought down—but the knights were stabbing not a whale, but Behemoth.
“Insignificant creatures.”
Behemoth opened its mouth. The knights attacking it froze in shock. Time seemed to freeze; no one dared move carelessly. Behemoth’s eyes were cold, utterly indifferent to the events unfolding around it. Then it shook its body violently. With a series of snaps, the magically reinforced ropes broke far too easily. With a sound like a mountain collapsing, everything nearby began to be destroyed—trees, rocks, monsters, and knights. In a single movement, Behemoth reduced them to dust.
“How dare you.”
Behemoth found it amusing. The aura these knights wielded was of far lower rank compared to the platinum light that had opposed it. Such attacks could never bring it down, even if continued for a month. Behemoth took a step. The ground crumbled, crushing soldiers and monsters beneath. It took another step. More soldiers died. “Stop it!” “Bring more ropes!” Soldiers babbling nonsense were crushed underfoot. “Manifest your aura! Hold it back!” The knights’ frantic movements could not keep pace with Behemoth. It advanced. The trenches had already collapsed. Murat was now within reach if Behemoth took just a few more steps. And then the platinum mist appeared once more before Behemoth.
Theodora held her sword. Never before had she felt so acutely that she was holding a blade. The platinum aura enveloping the sword swept along the edge, rose to the hilt, and wrapped around her body. Her heart maintained a calm rhythm. No further preparation was needed. Theodora faced Behemoth once more.
Behemoth no longer advanced relentlessly but turned to confront her. Feeling her mana rapidly depleting, Theodora swung her sword. Each time her blade struck Behemoth, its counterattacks grew more threatening. Now Behemoth bled and sustained wounds with every strike from her sword. Theodora could feel the boundary between herself and her sword gradually blurring. She simply swung, cut, wounded, and sought to take its life. Nothing else entered her mind. Just a little more. If she could reach just a little farther, if she could deliver a stronger strike, trace a more precise path—then her sword could reach Behemoth. Just like that. Theodora mounted Behemoth’s foreleg and aimed her sword at its neck. When the diagonal line she drew aligned with Behemoth’s gaze, her sword lost its light. The blade, stripped of its platinum glow, grazed Behemoth’s nape and broke. Behemoth’s upper arm struck her directly. Theodora fluttered through the air and fell to the ground. Her helmet shattered into fragments that fell with her.
“Captain!”
“Theodora…!”
The border count, who had been knocked down by Behemoth’s attack, barely managed to catch her. Theodora, bleeding from her head, struggled to steady herself. The border count quickly carried the faintly breathing Theodora away.
“It’s… not over yet…”
Even while supported by the border count, Theodora refused to release her sword. She forced his arm away and raised her blade once more to face the advancing Behemoth. But no aura emanated from that blade.
The aura closest to what the ancient heroes had used against it. Theodora’s aura was that threatening, that refined. Yet Behemoth had overcome it. Now nothing could stop it. Behemoth advanced again. Its wounds were deep, but they would heal. Knights rose once more from the rubble and ruins. Behemoth abandoned any thought of dealing with them individually and pressed forward. And then another magic circle unfolded in the sky. As if making one final stand. That magic—the only thing currently capable of hindering Behemoth. Still, it was the same as the knights’ aura, excluding Theodora’s. It could halt its steps, but it could never bring it down. Yet the magic that appeared, defying Behemoth’s expectations, took a different form.
Theodora’s eyes widened as she looked at the magic circle.
“…Chains.”
Giant chains of light extended from the magic circle. Behemoth roared, but the chains did not break or collapse. They began to bind it. They wrapped around its forelegs and shoulders, pressed down on its massive back, and restrained it. Behemoth twisted and struggled against the chains, but the more it resisted, the more tightly they bound it. She had to advance. Theodora instinctively knew this, but her blade no longer carried aura. Strength left her legs and she dropped to her knees. With one final strike—just one perfect strike—she could sever the monster’s neck. The chains’ light was gradually fading. No matter how powerful the magic, it could not hold the monster for long. This was the only chance—the only chance to kill it. Cracks appeared in the chains. Behemoth’s resistance grew fiercer. If the chains broke, Behemoth would undoubtedly march on Murat. Her sword struck the ground. Theodora felt a faint wind and pitched forward. She closed her eyes, expecting to meet the hard ground, but the impact she anticipated never came.
“Theo.”
Was this a dream? Theodora wondered. Perhaps she was being granted one final dream of the person she most wished to see. Beneath that voice, beneath the strong arms supporting her, Theodora felt herself grow endlessly weak.
“Don’t… stop…”
Theodora faintly murmured the name. Maxim was holding her. Eyes met. Golden eyes gazed at her. Theodora raised her hand. Maxim took it. Her hand gripped his tightly. Maxim carefully lifted her into his arms. At the sudden appearance of the knight, soldiers and knights alike could only watch in stunned silence as Maxim carried Theodora. Someone slowly approached him.
“Just what are you…”
Paola’s face twisted as she looked at Maxim, but she fell silent at the expression he returned.
“Please take care of Theodora.”
Maxim requested that Theodora, who was losing consciousness, be transported away. Then he drew his sword—the ordinary iron sword he always carried. Through her fading vision, Theodora watched Maxim recede.
“Maxim…?”
Then, realizing this was no dream, she began flailing and calling out to him.
“Maxim!!”
Maxim glanced back. Theodora had raised her upper body and was struggling against the soldiers trying to carry her away.
“Maxim!! Why did you come…! Why!!”
“Captain, please calm down first…”
Theodora tried to shake off the soldiers, but having exhausted all her strength fighting Behemoth, she could not break free.
“Maxim!! Don’t!!”
Theodora’s pleas grew closer to screams. Maxim looked at her quietly, as if her cries did not concern him.
“Don’t go… Maxim… Please… don’t go…”
Theodora broke free in a moment of loosened grip and ran toward him. With a face streaked with tears, she tried to reach him, but Maxim extended a hand to keep her from coming closer.
“Why… Maxim…”
Instead of answering, Maxim gently stroked her head. Then, without apology or farewell, he simply smiled. It was the same youthful smile from the bright days when they had been together—unchanged. Theodora’s expression went blank. She could only watch as the knight walked away from her, back toward Behemoth. Maxim walked. His steps carried him toward the mythical monster struggling against chains of light.
“This is getting tiresome.”
Maxim spoke while letting his sword hang loosely. There was no one to hear him, but it seemed appropriate to leave behind even a muttered word at a time like this.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Behemoth gave no reply. Maxim focused his mind and gathered mana. His heart pounded, and his scars throbbed with stabbing pain. Yet the mind gripping his sword no longer wavered. Because now there was only one thing to think about.
“So I suppose I’ll have to vent a little.”
Golden aura slowly wrapped around Maxim’s sword from the hilt upward, like vines climbing a wall. The light was not dazzling. It was warm, a straight and radiant glow that captivated the viewer. It was fainter than the golden light of the afternoon sun. It was not more brilliant than gold freshly mined. But Behemoth knew. That light—that light was the very radiance the ancient heroes had wrapped around their swords, the one it had feared most.
“You… bastard…”
Behemoth spoke and struggled. The chains thrashed as if about to break, but they bought enough time for Maxim to reach it. Wounds. The wounds accumulated by Theodora, the knights, and magic were now visible on Behemoth’s body. Maxim’s gaze fixed on a tiny wound at its nape. It was the clue Theodora had left there—the place his final sword path had to reach. He raised his sword. As if making one last effort, the chains tightened powerfully and forced Behemoth’s head down. His body would not obey, and the mana he had gathered was obtained by scraping away at his life itself. The curse rapidly devoured everything within Maxim. Black blood flowed from his mouth. Blood tears welled in his eyes. Memories. One second passed, then another, and memories vanished. The Raven Knight Order, the royal capital, the Benning and Borden families, his own family, Apart, the Academy. Like mud washed away by rain, Maxim’s memories gradually disappeared. Yet—
“Theo…”
Maxim clung desperately to that single name. Even if he lost all his memories, even if he died here and now, there was something he had to remember.
“Theodora… Benning.”
Maxim spoke the name, then nodded with a satisfied expression, having already forgotten why he had spoken it. The darkness that had consumed everything within him was closer to completion than ever before. Maxim approached Behemoth with unsteady steps. As Behemoth opened its mouth for one final roar, Maxim’s sword traced a perfect path and fell upon its nape. The neck that had seemed impossible to sever flew into the air. Golden aura embroidered the sky.