Victory's Frozen Price
Me, strong? I glide forward to Ern like ice on a slope and swing my aura-infused sword at the black-robed figure.
A flash of sky-blue light streaks through the dark sewers, and the charging black robe crashes into the filthy water with a splat.
Sewer sludge splashes up, but no blood sprays.
The cut surface is frozen solid.
Sliced clean from crown to toe—even a freakish demon worshipper with an unnatural body couldn't survive that.
Ern finally draws his sword late and stares blankly at me as I sheathe mine, then glances behind me and rushes forward to clash weapons.
The grating screech of steel on steel drags on until the black robe slides past us like it's skating.
That bizarre gliding along the ceiling—it's endlessly fascinating no matter how many times I see it.
Doesn't mean I'm letting it live, though.
While Ern grapples with another pair of charging black robes up front, I swing at the one pulling off those freakish moves.
It's desperately trying to dodge by sliding along walls and ceiling, but its speed is nowhere near enough to evade my blade.
My sword, glowing blue with infused aura, slashes diagonally from its collarbone to its side.
The moment the obliquely bisected demon worshipper hits the ground, I drive my sword vertically into its skull and unleash ether.
Its brain is literally frozen solid now—no way it can do anything in that state.
More importantly, I need to stick close to Ern. He's hitting his limit over there.
I sheathe my sword again and head his way to support him as he tenuously holds off two black robes.
"Ngh…!"
No matter that he's a regressor—right now, Ern's just a first-year at the academy.
Future knowledge and experience won't change the fact that his body's still that of an immature student.
And yet, he's holding his own against two demon worshippers—things even upperclassmen avoid if they can.
No wonder he's the protagonist.
With the protagonist in a pinch, it's my job to bail him out.
I pour ether into my screaming, battered arm and swing my aura-charged sword once more.
"K-Kieeeek!!!!"
Maybe because my body's not in top shape, my blade doesn't cleave the demon worshipper cleanly in two.
The best I manage is a deep gash that leaves it combat-ineffective.
It's twitching like it wants to move, but frostbite ravaging its insides won't let it.
"Haa…"
I catch my breath, and white mist billows from my mouth.
I figured Cecilia's blessing would let me swing a bit longer, but my limit's closing in.
The demon worshipper clashing with Ern looks like it's moving faster.
They're not speeding up—I'm slowing down.
Until just now, I felt my body howling in agony, but even that's growing numb and distant.
The arm I've been pumping ether into for aura feels completely insensate now.
One more swing, and it might really freeze solid.
As I steady myself with those thoughts, Ern deeply slashes the demon worshipper's throat.
No decapitation, but half the neck's gone—won't last long.
The problem? It only has to hold out that long.
With Ern's stance crumbling from the heavy swing, the black robe—neck flopping—lashes out with its sword.
But Ern twists his body in a weird contortion, regains his footing, parries the desperate thrust, and severs its neck clean.
The demon worshipper's head flies through the air before splashing into the sewage.
A fittingly ugly end for the likes of them.
Maybe he overdid it forcing that stance back—either way, he's panting raggedly as he looks my way.
I can't tell if he wants praise, to vent frustration, or to yell at me.
But it's not over yet.
"Ern!"
The one I'd deeply slashed, still twitching grotesquely, is aiming its sword at him.
Now just a lump of mangled flesh, I can guess what it's trying.
Probably shoot out chunks of meat to impale him or launch its sword straight through.
Disgusted by how it won't die cleanly, I dash between it and him.
But my leaden body can't even manage that properly.
He turns at the sound of me calling his name and charging, but it's too late.
The once-demon-worshipper flesh erupts, firing its sword at him.
Seeing it aimed dead at his heart, my sluggish mind races.
Swing to block? Might work, but failure means death.
Rejected.
Shove Ern aside? That just puts me in the blade's path.
Great for a "protecting the protagonist at great cost" scenario, but the problem is I can't choose where it hits.
If it guts my organs, I'll die before we even get out.
Dying to save the hero and scarring him forever? Not a bad end.
But nah—I want to die more dramatically, in front of more people.
Better to be remembered by everyone than just one guy.
Plus, there's still so much fun to watch.
So, rejected.
One option left: tank it with my body midway.
I thrust my nearly frozen right arm forward, pour in ether, and release.
Brilliant blue ether explodes from my fingertips.
And with a crackling creeeak, my hand starts freezing over.
Literally.
Ice engulfs my hand, crawls past the wrist, devours elbow and shoulder.
Sensation's long dead in that arm, but it feels like shoving it into a furnace—searing agony floods in.
Worse than that time I accidentally froze it before.
Should be enough to block, though.
"Aghk…!"
The sword slams into my frozen right arm.
The blade shatters chunks off the ice before lodging halfway and clattering to the floor, momentum spent.
No pain even as my own flesh breaks off—it's totally gone mad.
"Ilisha!!!"
Ern's voice rips through my ears like a scream.
"…Ern. We won."
With all the enemies down, my body presents the bill now that the adrenaline fades.
Lungs burn like I've inhaled glacial air; legs tremble from pain and cold.
Can't even focus my eyes right—probably frostbitten them too.
Did I unconsciously pump ether into my eyes?
"That's not what's important right now!!!"
He's yelling near-scream levels, staring at my right arm.
Ah, this is why.
My right arm.
Not just shattered where the sword hit—it's riddled with cracks too.
One wrong bump, and it'll shatter completely.
Nice.
Good call throwing my body in.
"No, Ern. This isn't important. Winning is."
I carefully lower my fully frozen right arm and tell him so.
"How can you even say that…!"
His face twists with guilt, anger, bewilderment.
He doesn't even know what emotion to show.
After all, the girl who vowed to protect him got protected instead.
…Ahh, this is the best.
Good thing my legs are shaking.
Lets me legally squeeze my thighs together.
"Cecilia's here. She'll fix it somehow. So… don't worry too much."
I make a show of slightly lifting the frozen arm to reassure him.
Not that I want him actually reassured. Suffer more, please.
Blame yourself, beat yourself up a little harder.
"…Ern, let's go. We still have to find… cough, hack… huff… cough…"
The moment I urge him onward and step forward, coughs erupt.
Blood flecks each one.
"Ilisha, let's head back. Hurry, before you break more…!"
"…Haa, haa, I know my condition best. I'm still okay. So, let's keep going."
Ern covers his mouth and nose, looks up, exhales shakily, then tells me,
"…Stick behind me. And don't jump in. Just… tell me if you spot enemies. We'll avoid them."
Instead of replying, I flash a grin and follow in his wake.
Luckily for Ern, we don't run into more foes.
He follows my guidance to a hidden secret space, grabs the demon worshippers' plans and evidence there.
"…Let's go to Cecilia, Ilisha."
"Will the smell be okay…"
"The smell's the problem right now?!"
Even in this mess, he's baffled I'm worried about that? He drags me straight to the temple anyway.
No, it's important! Scent management is key to image control.
Think I spritz perfume every morning for fun?
"…What in the world happened to you."
At the temple, Cecilia blinks, then finally manages to say that.
What happened, she asks.
"It's a long story… ehehehe."
Knowing I'll get scolded, I roll my eyes innocently, forgetting my frozen arm.
"Come in first. I'll heal you. And hear your excuses inside. You too, Ern."
Ern shoots Cecilia an innocent-who-did-nothing-wrong look but has no choice but to follow me in.
As Cecilia removes my outer clothes to treat me, she sees my arm and freezes with a grim expression.
"…This is bad."
…No way she can't heal it?
Nah.