A Few Days Before the Raid
A few days before the assault, Marhal passed by pretending to be a traveler, observing the target carriage from a safe distance. Paying attention to every visible thing in the open expanse would be a waste of focus. The knights escorting the carriage paid no heed to Marhal either. A quick glance while passing by made reconnaissance a breeze.
Marhal circled the carriage several times, scrutinizing it. The carriage moved steadily. Even minor mishaps were handled with pre-planned precision, nothing ordinary about it. Just as Azenman had said, it seemed they could truly see the future—or wielded something similar. If so, then the future becoming reality must also be true. The raid would succeed. What came after depended on their response. That was where Marhal had laid his trap.
The carriage traveled at a constant speed in a fixed direction. So he dug traps along its path. If they had superhumans, so did he. With a shovel alone, digging a pit big enough for a person was child's play. He added multiple traps and explosives on top. Even superhumans were human at their core. There were sects that trained to shrug off blades, but even they would die caught in an explosion.
"This'll cause problems if witnesses spot it."
Strekl, hiding in the pit, muttered as he heard the blasts from outside. Gunpowder or explosives—same difference to Strekl—but the makers insisted they were worlds apart, and they changed the tide of battle. Hard to obtain first. Hard to obtain meant hard to predict. Hard to predict meant hard to prepare for. Hard to prepare for meant easy to exploit weaknesses. Easy to exploit meant massive damage. Even knights weren't immune. Commoners could threaten knights and whole orders with it. Even challenge noble authority.
Such a blast in the West? If anyone saw, rumors would spread. Anyone who knew of explosives would investigate.
"That's for His Excellency to handle. Time for us to move. You're our key force here, Strekl."
"Right."
Strekl was already helmeted and fully armed. Shedding his cloak, he became the steel nightmare of the battlefield. Strekl brushed aside the covering cloth and climbed out of the pit. Marhal followed, poking his head up.
The fight was already raging outside. The first trap had taken out about thirty of theirs, leaving them combat-ineffective. Overall strength leaned slightly against them, but with Strekl and the Pen of Responsibility prepared for today, they had a shot.
'Father never imagined an imperial relic used for banditry.'
As son and wearer of the Paulownia Crown, guilt tugged at him, but what could he do? The world was like this. He hid the quill up his sleeve, heart pounding as he prepared a minor spell. Thump. Not Marhal's reaction. The history slumbering within him stirred.
He sometimes had absurd dreams, but those were just dreams—no real impact. This was different. History moved with intent. He'd struggled controlling power before, but power with a will? Never. History acting on its own? A first for Marhal. Even mages and saints never mentioned it.
"Haven't felt like cursing in ages."
Marhal traced the pulse's source. Azenman's men and the imperial knights fighting hard? No. The treasure carriage? No. Shattered boxes tumbling out evoked nothing.
His gaze locked on the third carriage. That was it. It shook alone. Amid ringing ears from blasts, sounds pierced: weapons clashing, screams, shouts, and a low, prolonged growl unlike any beast he'd known.
A woman stood at the driver's seat of the third carriage, hand on her sword hilt, scanning warily. Not fighting, just guarding blatantly. Azenman's men didn't miss it. They were murder and robbery experts, instinctively knowing where to strike for pain.
Over half the escort dead. Forces even. Strike the weakness first. Several of Azenman's men charged her. Their movements rivaled knights. She drew. Three slashes, three heads rolled. She parried, flowed into counters, severing necks. Masterful swordplay. Seemed simple. But not the end.
'She understands her own techniques. Better call her a mage.'
At sword contact, the foe froze. Magic halting contact. Potent for anyone, devastating in a knight's hands. The horses shredded in the blast while the carriage survived? Her magic too.
His heart pounded louder, body trembling. Rage. Marhal's history foresaw what was coming—and raged. Not all accumulation was positive. Berserkers devoured by their own history abounded. Marhal's dwarfed them. He bore the West's history, its grudges. Something in that carriage stirred the West's souls.
Marhal approached the knight. She spotted him.
"Even without that bastard, I figured it out. It's you. The one who'll tell me the truth."
"Truth's not my interest. What's inside? What're the Empire plotting? You owe answers."
* * *
In the melee's heart, Strekl rampaged as the battlefield tyrant. Helmed, fearless. He snatched incoming spears and swords barehanded, smashed them aside, closed in, thrust. No one blocked the simple repetition. Imperial knights. They had ways to counter armored foes once set. But veteran Strekl gave no chance.
If communication started, he dove in. Back stabbed by sword or arrow? That's what full plate was for. He killed leaders before plans formed, targeted replacements. Repetition broke their will to command.
'No way we overwhelm them...!'
Strekl hurled his sword. Blue lightning struck it—conjured magic, no match for heaven's bolt. Not lethal to Strekl-level superhumans. Dodge on sight. If not armored, maybe. Second bolt curved after him. He drew another sword. Whoosh. Flames erupted, dwarfing the blade, devouring the bolt. Nearby knights recoiled. Fire-spewing swords rare even for imperial knights and mercenaries versed in mysteries.
"Drew it after all."
The relic from Cliff—wild dog knight captain, Bachea imperial guard—passed through rightful heirs to Strekl. He hated using it. Ruthless for victory, but this? Exception. From fallen Bachea Empire, reclaimed by its sole true heir judging traitors. Heavy history. Heavy meaning. Marhal might've handed it casually, but not for Strekl. Drawing it thoughtlessly? Dishonor or idiocy.
"Drew it, so time for a performance worthy."
He swung again. Third bolt consumed. Chaos parted; Night Dew emerged. Mage revealed. Rush and behead—textbook. Strekl held. Faint mystery around Night Dew visible to him. He lacked mystic sight, but the sword's harmony granted it. No falling for visible traps.
Night Dew blinked, surprised, then calmly taunted.
"Mages first to die when revealed. Knightly common sense, no? Here I am."
"Crude trap."
"Instinct? Or do you really see? First sword swallowing mysteries. Who are you?"
"Bandit needing coin. Hey, mage. Your precious cargo looks threatened. Leave it?"
Strekl eyed behind Night Dew. Third carriage. And her. Night Dew nearly turned but held desperately. Vanished future gnawed at him. Must focus on now. If it saved her, he'd do anything.
"She handles herself. You're the bigger threat."
Blue lightning rose from earth around Night Dew, coiling into a dozen wolves. Strekl swallowed. Magic from demon war frontlines, peak human mages only. Few could wield it. Empire origin narrowed suspects.
"Mystery tracker, eh."
"Trackers take knight orders alone if conditions met. I have mine. You?"
"Knight order? I could butcher one now."
No place for lone knights or murderer thugs. Space cleared around them. Lightning wolves lunged with killing intent; Strekl swung his flame-wreathed blade.
* * *
Marin and Bayola were amid the fray. Marin fought mercenaries guarding the carriage, relics drawn. Her eyes blood-red, crimson aura rising. None approached easily. Two already down around her.
Bayola clung to fading consciousness—miracle not fainting amid blood and flesh underfoot. Strekl's training paying off. But that was it.
"Knew you'd dodge."
"S-sorry!"
"That's what someone sorry says?"
"You're barely hanging on too!"
Bayola here to rein Marin if needed. Relic-wielding Marin's physique matched Strekl's. Add berserker burst, she outpowered him. In real fights, armor and skill meant Marin lost every time, but overpowering Strekl physically? Incredible. Downside: she lost reason. No friend-foe distinction.
Alone, like beggar days, fine. Berserk only if enemies around; kill all, regain senses. But now? Allies present. Lose reason to blood history, attack friends—Marhal disappointed. Marin would die avoiding that. Needed restraint: Bayola.
"Tch."
Marin clicked her tongue. Bayola right. She knew history now, her symptoms. Blood history dragged her down. Without Bayola, the gore might've broken her.
Marin steadied breath, assessed. Traps worthwhile. Expected-troublesome mage on Strekl; rest slowly pushed back. Hundred knight-grades scared her, but winnable.
Bayola, scanning with Marin, froze. Woman at third carriage seat. Familiar. Bayola denied her judgment. Vanished over a decade ago. Meeting here? Too coincidental. Miracle likely. Plus unchanged looks. Even emperor couldn't conquer age. Knights bound by lifespan. Impossible. She knew. Yet... what if real? If her? Might know vanished sister's—Soila Muesilrigo—whereabouts?
"Marin, favor."
"Hard enough guarding deadweight—shut it!"
"Please... might uncover imperial secrets."
Imperial secrets swayed Marin. Empire-hater. Tempting words.
"What do?"
"Questions for that woman."
"Her? Lord Marhal?"
Marin saw Marhal facing the knight. Staring down, unmoving. Marin cleared path. Her ominous aura deterred rushers. Bayola reached converse range.
"Ellis. Ellis Alrobes, sister's guard, right?"
The knight—Ellis Alrobes—lost composure.
"Princess Bayola? Why here?"
"Answer. Where's sister? Soila—where? You her guard, vanished from palace after— you know!"
Bayola's last, emotional cry near scream. Passion infected Ellis. Who knows? She wanted Soila's whereabouts most. Ten-plus years fixated. That shock stopped her time. Literally. Age halted. Object-stopping mystery embedded in her. Bayola clawed worst memory. Stalled time flowed. Deep-buried heart-emotions erupted.
"Me asking you! Where'd Soila go? Secret from guard? Emperor? Royals ignorant—who do I seek truth from?!"
Black smoke exploded from carriage. Ellis never strayed far from capital to West. Her magic halted its time, sealing inside. Her time flowing unsealed it. Lid flew skyward. Beast burst out, shattering carriage. Black smoke-wreathed, claws slashed at Ellis.