The Red Knight (1)
The day Glenn had foreseen.
Siriel woke and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, taking in the interior of the tent.
Dark.
Careful not to wake Lucia, who was still asleep, Siriel gathered her gear and stepped outside, lifting her head the moment she cleared the flap.
Crimson clouds.
Even for the Demon Realm — a place already far removed from anything normal — the red sky overhead was unsettling enough to set the nerves on edge. She had overheard enough of Shiron and Glenn's conversation to brace herself somewhat, but seeing it with her own eyes was another matter entirely.
"You're up."
Shiron spoke from beside the campfire, where he was preparing food.
"I was thinking of waking you, but I'm glad I didn't. Come sit down and eat."
"..."
Siriel didn't answer. Instead she ran a hand up over her hair, checking for tangles. Thankfully nothing was flattened or sticking out. Reassured, she took the seat beside him.
Something smells good...
As if on cue, a bowl of thick soup was set in front of her.
"When did you get up, Oppa?"
"I don't know. About two hours ago?"
"...Aren't you tired? You've been taking watch every night lately."
Shiron's turn on watch was always either second from the back or second from the front — the kind of slot where you fell asleep only to be jolted awake almost immediately, too awkward a stretch to really rest again.
"Eh. I'm not standing it alone."
He said it like it was nothing and began laying out usable weapons on the ground.
The Fire Spear Ornort. The Holy Sword. The Shield of Chesed. A usable dwarven staff. Giant's greaves...
Judging by the crimson clouds, the one about to appear would almost certainly be the Fifth Apostle, Bernouil. Unlike the Third Apostle Oblivion, Bernouil was a disaster that never held ground — a calamity that wandered the Demon Realm without a fixed domain.
Thankfully he's not that much of a pain.
What to watch for. The red rain that fell from those clouds lowered resistances and randomly drove targets into confusion.
He set out the lemonade he had prepared in advance.
Come to think of it, the red lightning would fall as well. Bolts would strike without warning wherever the crimson mire pooled, which would put serious constraints on movement.
He strapped on the giant's greaves.
"Siriel."
Shiron picked up the Fire Spear and approached her. She looked up from the bowl she had scraped clean.
"...Yeah?"
"Show me the sword you're using right now."
Without a word of complaint, Siriel went back into the tent. A moment later she returned with a longsword that showed a little wear from use.
A weapon I don't recognize.
"...Is something wrong with it?"
Siriel had caught the look on his face.
"Can you handle two-handed weapons... no, you can use a spear, right?"
With that, Shiron held the Fire Spear out to her. Since he would be relying primarily on the Holy Sword, it made more sense for Siriel to wield Ornort.
"You're giving this to me?"
Siriel accepted the spear with a look of pure gratitude. Lucia's milky-white blade had been quietly needling at her, and receiving a weapon as a "gift" from Shiron like this made the corners of her mouth start to lift.
"No?"
But contrary to her expectations, the answer was a denial.
"I'm lending it to you."
"Tha—"
"Give it back when you're done."
"...Got it."
Tap. Pat-pat.
Shiron registered the cold sensation on his skin. Red rain began to fall — rain so violently crimson it seemed nothing in the world could be redder.
He wasn't the only one who noticed something was wrong.
"Ah..."
A shadow crossed Lucia's face as she stared at the pot.
Red blotches floated here and there across the white soup.
Maybe because she had gotten up late. The rain had come without warning and ruined the meal she had gone to the trouble of preparing.
Glenn laid a hand on her shoulder.
"I can feel a foul energy in the falling rain. It's stirring unrest in the heart. Keep your wits about you."
"...My wits were already about me."
Lucia shifted her gaze toward the distance.
Far off, at the edge of the clouds — thud — something crashed to the earth.
The distance was considerable, but Lucia's eyes picked out the figure's appearance clearly enough. A creature in crimson armor. Its build stood a full two heads taller than Glenn behind her. Instinct whispered that leaving that thing alive was not an option.
...So I just have to kill that bastard?
Lucia drew her milky-white sword. Glenn's advice not to let herself be shaken suddenly seemed almost funny. A thing like that — she had faced plenty in her previous life.
Whether from the rain falling out of the sky or something else, a faint chill ran through her body, and something caught tight in her chest — but the moment she drew mana up from her core, the unease shrank.
It's Bernouil, all right.
Having confirmed the enemy's identity, Shiron picked up the dwarven staff. A consumable piece of equipment that fired lightning regardless of the caster's skill.
He had no intention of waiting for the enemy to come to them. He swept the staff through the air in a single circle, and white energy gathered above the crimson armor.
———Crack!
Even as the lightning struck without warning, the others didn't look at Shiron. Their eyes stayed fixed on the enemy, who took the bolt and didn't even break stride.
I knew it wouldn't drop him.
Swallowing his disappointment, Shiron swung the staff again and again. White energy gathered and slammed into the knight. Boom! Boom! Boom! Fully twenty strikes later, the staff crumbled to dust in his hands with a dry hiss.
And then he saw it — the enemy knight's movements hitching. The armor that had been solid crimson was slowly taking on soot, looking dirtier by the moment.
And then—
Those slow footsteps quickened. From within the fully enclosed helm, a glinting gaze locked onto Shiron. Creeping dread snapped him fully alert. The knight in crimson armor — Bernouil — was charging the group, but Shiron knew with absolute clarity that the man was coming straight for him.
"Watch the puddles. Lightning's going to hit."
"...Got it."
Shiron warned Lucia. She steadied her breathing and drove hard off the ground. Her rain-soaked red hair whipped through the air in a wave. Surging mana became white sword-aura and crashed down on Bernouil.
Boom!
She had meant to cut him down in a single stroke. She couldn't. A dark crimson greatsword intercepted the blow. For a moment they locked in a contest of strength — and even with her power amplified by mana, the enemy did not give a single step.
Their blades broke apart. Boom! They clashed again. Boom!! Relentless sword strokes hammered into each other without pause.
He can... actually use a sword?
—State your name.
A voice issued from within the helm, but Lucia did not answer. She knew perfectly well that landing one more attack was worth more than a single word of reply.
She drew still more mana from her core. The descending, sweeping strokes accelerated. Her sword-aura swelled. She set aside any thought of finishing him in one cut. For now, she would simply swing like a brute — smash him, carve him apart.
—Answer me.
Lucia ignored him.
Though they each held only a single blade, the mere act of swinging them raised howling gales as a matter of course. The blood-red raindrops no longer reached her; heat-flushed breath tore from her lungs.
Hah—
Her breathing grew ragged.
Thump-thump-thump-thump—
Her heart hammered.
Faster strokes, wider cuts. The blood in her whole body raced to match, and mana poured from the tangled web of her meridians like a flood.
—This is a dishonorable duel.
Still she gave no answer, only clenched her teeth. What nonsense was that. Honor, in a fight to the death? The thick demonic energy rolling off him made her want to gag. Even so, her mind was crystal clear. That dense miasma, filtered through countless prior experiences, only confirmed that the enemy before her was one who had to die.
In that instant, the Fire Spear came down behind Bernouil. Siriel, gripping Ornort, had seized the opening he couldn't cover.
I have to watch for the puddles.
Thud-thud-thud-thud— Aura-wreathed spear thrusts hammered home in rapid succession. Wherever they struck, the armor dented and deformed and did not spring back. Siriel felt it too — not empty air, but the dense, stiff resistance of clay.
Why is this so hard?
The spear Shiron had given her couldn't pierce the armor.
A jolt of surprise ran through her, but Siriel did not falter. The open ground around them was ideal for a two-person assault.
There still aren't any deep puddles yet...
The enemy's only weapon was a single sword. Two arms. There had to be openings. Siriel poured on the spear strikes. When she wrapped sword-aura around the crimson spear, brilliant flames burst from the tip like detonations.
The red knight leapt sideways. If he took this pincer attack head-on, defeat was certain. He gave ground — one step, three steps! — trying to narrow the angle of the incoming assault. Both cutting strokes filled his field of vision at once.
Through the helm, Bernouil saw them. The attacks of these dishonorable ones who meant to hack him apart, crush him, stab him, bore into him, run him through — to kill him!
Three shadows writhed wildly across the red earth, painting frantic patterns. From a distance, an onlooker might have taken them for sand serpents thrashing across a desert.
Thoom—
A murky force exploded outward with Bernouil at its center. Lucia's eyes flew wide. Siriel squeezed hers shut. She couldn't open them. It felt as though a keen blade were driving into her eyes — the pain was that severe.
No — pain was inadequate. An agony beyond words began to eat away at Siriel's thoughts.
Yank—
"...Huh?"
In that instant, Siriel's body was jerked hard. Someone had seized the outer garment cinched around her shoulders and yanked.
What—?
—Boom!!
Lightning struck right in front of Siriel's face.