Night of the Full Moon
"Your Grace, preparations are complete."
Duke Randert stood atop the gates of Methar, capital of the Dwyat Empire, letting the night wind wash over him. The resistance had been every bit as fierce as predicted, but the gates had at last been forced open — and all that remained now was the palace where Emperor Royan was staying.
True to its reputation as a nation of mercenaries, the Dwyat Empire's military might was considerable. No small amount of blood had soaked the battlefield on the road here.
But tonight would be different.
Duke Randert's gaze lifted to the night sky. A full moon hung high and clear in the pitch-dark heavens.
The night when the Duke and the Full Moon Knights could bring their greatest strength to bear was, precisely, a night of the full moon.
On nights like this, no one could stand against them.
Why, exactly, no one had ever managed to say. And, astonishing as it seemed, the truth was that even the Duke himself did not know the reason in any detail.
He looked into it bit by bit whenever time allowed, but he had yet to find so much as a solid lead. For now, he simply accepted it as fact. On the eve of a battle as crucial as today's, that ignorance could even work to his advantage.
"To Emperor Royan, the imperial palace is his last bastion. He will defend it with everything he has."
"Are you still certain he's inside, Your Grace?"
The tide of war had long since turned — this had been a losing war for the Dwyat Empire from the very start. With the capital fallen, the odds were high that the imperial family and the senior nobility, Emperor Royan included, had abandoned the palace and fled. That would be the only way to hope for a comeback.
But the Duke thought otherwise.
"If my read on him is right, he's still in the palace. Sitting on his throne, waiting for me."
Burning for vengeance against his father. Just how wretched an end that twisted desire would meet — tonight would tell.
"The soldiers' morale is at its peak. If the infiltration team completes its mission without a hitch, the war could be over by day's end."
The single most important thing in this war was keeping the body count down. That was why a strict order had gone out in advance: even among the enemy, civilians were not to be killed wantonly.
Once the Dwyat Empire became a vassal state of the Polska Empire, a governor would be dispatched — and for that rule to go smoothly, it was best not to stir the people's resentment from the outset.
"I'll go myself."
"You, Your Grace?"
"Then propose something surer, if you can think of it."
The words absolutely not climbed to the tip of Sadad's tongue — but the Duke's reply left him no ground to argue. It was painfully obvious that everything would go far more smoothly with the Duke himself in motion. However hard he racked his brains, no better plan came to him on the spot.
"The party makes five, myself included. Sadad — command here is yours from now on. You can manage that?"
"Of course. Frankly, Your Grace, you've done nothing but hold your post — haven't I been doing all the real work all along?"
"So? Is that a complaint?"
"Well, I wouldn't call it a complaint... It's merely that I, too, need some private time of my own, and I find myself rather short of it. I thought I'd take this opportunity to say so."
"If you need an extended leave, just say the word. I'd send you off for a whole year."
"Wh-what! A whole year? Do you intend to cast me aside entirely?"
"I was just beginning to consider it."
"Your Grace, I believe it is time to depart."
Just as Duke Randert and Sadad were trading banter, Hayes stepped in with her report. She was one of the subordinates the Duke meant to take with him.
Once the allied offensive began, Duke Randert planned to slip into the palace in secret with his men — to force open the tightly sealed iron gates, dispatch the Imperial Guard, and then take Emperor Royan and what remained of the imperial family alive.
There was a measure of risk in it, but there was no faster way to seize the palace. If only to keep their own losses to a minimum, the Duke moving in person was the best choice.
"I'm off."
With a pat on Sadad's shoulder, Duke Randert descended from the gates.
"Until tomorrow morning, my lord."
Sadad bowed at the waist toward his lord's retreating back, his salute firm and resolute.
The day of the decisive battle had come at last. It was a fine night to cut away, once and for all, every last strand of the bitter feud with the Dwyat Empire.
Fwoooosh—
The imperial palace of the Dwyat Empire was ringed by a moat — and over that moat, dozens of fireballs surged skyward, stitching the pitch-black night with light. For an instant, it might have been mistaken for a fireworks display.
But the romance of it lasted only a heartbeat before a tremendous roar followed.
KWA-BOOOM!
The Polska Empire's first assault opened with a volley from its magic corps. Scarlet fireballs smashed through the palace walls and shook the earth to its roots, sending powdered stone and dust cascading down in sheets.
Boom! Boom-boom!
Determined not to be outdone, the Dwyat Empire unleashed retaliatory magic of its own.
"Let's move."
That was when Duke Randert and his party moved. Unlike the main gate, where flames raged and magic burst in chaos, the palace's flank lay deep in shadow. Five figures went up the wall, swift and silent as smoke.
"All of you, stay sharp!"
They were nearly at the top of the wall when a commander's voice rang out, rousing the soldiers below.
Duke Randert thrust out a hand — the order to freeze. Duke and subordinates alike dangled precariously from the wall, breath held.
"The enemy may try to slip in under cover of darkness! No gawking — hold your posts and keep strict watch!"
KRA-BOOM!
The soldiers' answers were swallowed whole by the din. The magical bombardment had begun anew.
A final, desperate battle was unfolding between the Dwyat Empire, resolved to guard its palace to the last, and the Polska Empire, resolved to bring it crashing down.
There was no time to lose. At a flick of the Duke's hand, they resumed climbing, faster than before.
"Plague take them! It wouldn't be enough to tear those bastards limb from limb! They won't give us a moment's breathing room!"
"Think any of us are getting out of this alive?"
"How should I know? Any one of us could drop dead this very minute and it wouldn't surprise me!"
The soldiers of the Dwyat Empire grumbled among themselves.
That they would lose the war was already a foregone conclusion. Even knowing that capture meant immediate execution, the deserters were multiplying by the day. Their only wish was to live — even as prisoners, just to live.
"Hell... how did our country ever come to this...!"
With the tension of war wound to its absolute peak, it felt as though he had to spit out some words — any words — for the fear to recede even a little. His wife and children — were they safe? The worry never once left him.
Whoosh!
"...Huh?"
They had been trading idle talk, but that didn't mean the watch had slackened. Sensing something shoot upward from below the wall, the soldier's gaze traced after it.
"What was that? Am I seeing things?"
Nothing showed against the night sky. He'd gone without sleep for days on end; he must be imagining ghosts.
"Phew — that jolted me for a second! I mean, look how high these palace walls are. As if anyone could climb up here...!"
The man's muttering never reached its end — for he collapsed, unconscious, without ever learning why. Behind him, one after another, the soldiers on watch swallowed their screams and dropped where they stood.
There had been no need to draw a sword. Striking a vital point bare-handed to subdue an opponent was the very first technique taught to anyone who joined the Full Moon Knights. The Duke and his men made it inside the palace with ease.
"You three — change into enemy uniforms and open the palace gates. Hayes and I will head for the inner quarters."
"Take care, Your Grace."
"We'll meet again soon."
Reassuring his anxious subordinate, Duke Randert melted into the darkness. Hayes followed hard on his heels, quick as his own shadow.
Locating Emperor Royan proved no great difficulty — an aura drifted on the air that, if anything, could be called familiar to Duke Randert's keen senses. He was not far.
"The Imperial Guard."
A vast garden. Before the palace — which exuded a strangely desolate, forsaken air — the finest troops in the Dwyat Empire, the Imperial Guard, stood in immaculate formation, as though they had been waiting for the Duke all along.
"So they knew we were coming."
A chill prickled through the air. One mistake — a single one — was all it would take.
"Anyone who stands in our way from this point on gets cut down. No exceptions."
The order fell from their lord's lips.
"I'll take point."
Hayes flew at the enemy, red hair streaming behind her. Before a rank of dozens of knights, she showed not one trace of fear.
The living legend of the empire.
The one who had ended the Ten-Year War.
The most unshakable presence on the continent stood at her back. With him behind her, she was certain she could defeat whoever came.
With a deep, rolling roar, a colossal force began to churn around Duke Randert.
His sword gave a short, keening hum, as though answering that power in kind.
Just as expected, the Imperial Guard showed no wavering whatsoever. They simply steadied their front rank in silence, eyes fixed ahead.
Duke Randert shot forward like a bolt. In the same instant, a man came rushing out to meet him from the Guard's ranks.
Count Fosway.
One of the two pillars that held up the Dwyat Empire.
And the commander of the Imperial Guard.
Duke Randert condensed his mana in a heartbeat and poured it into his blade. A bluish aura sheathed the sword in a flash of light, then settled into stillness.
Shwaaaa!
"Hyaah!"
Duke Randert's sword and Count Fosway's met head-on.
KWA-KOOM!
Along with a blinding flash, a massive detonation thundered through the garden. Trees, grass, and earth were ripped from the ground; flagstones split apart, and even a statue standing well clear of the clash was smashed to pieces.
"Guhk!"
Count Fosway groaned as he was driven back, skidding across the ground. He had weathered the Duke's attack rather admirably — but that was the full measure of him. As expected, facing this man alone was more than he could manage. A single exchange, and he felt to the bone how far he fell short of his opponent.
"Ghak!"
Just then, a hulking figure sprang out from behind Count Fosway. Halberd in hand, he swung it at the Duke with everything he had, without a hair's breadth of hesitation.
Crackle!
From the aura-wreathed axe head of the halberd, vicious pale-blue flames spat out.
WHAM!
"It's been a while, Count Jenur."
The man was the Dwyat Empire's other pillar — its Supreme Commander, Count Jenur, nephew and protégé of the late Barachel, the empire's former sovereign.
"How dare you crawl in here — do you have any idea where you are!"
Count Jenur growled low, teeth grinding, glaring as though at his sworn mortal enemy. In truth, were it within his power, he would gladly have hacked the man before him into bite-sized pieces on the spot and fed them to the crocodiles.
"That filthy mouth of yours hasn't changed."
"And neither has that face of yours — still like a woman's, you bastard!"
"If you're here, then I take it Emperor Royan is nearby as well?"
"You think the likes of you deserves an audience with His Majesty? So be it! If that is truly your heart's wish, I'll cut off your head with my own two hands and present it to him myself!"
"Then say whatever else you have to say."
"What was that?"
"You'll have fewer regrets when you're dead, won't you?"
Count Jenur's face contorted like a rotting apple. For all his bluster a moment ago, no retort sprang to his lips. He knew the man's prowess far too well.
"It seems you have no last words."
Lengthy exchanges with enemies had never been Duke Randert's way. The full moon settled into the Duke's blue eyes.
Shrrrang!
His sword tore through the air toward Count Jenur at blinding speed.