[User] "I don’t recognize you… I wonder how you got here." The Hornet cocked her head in curiosity, but the girl said nothing, only fixing her with a single scarlet eye blazing with hostility.

[Assistant] The Hornet smiled even wider. Dripping blood turned the girl’s lovely silver hair red and stippled her brown skin, which seemed to pulse with the fight. The Hornet raised her blades, savoring what she was going to do next…

[User] "All right, that’s enough." Someone said just before she could bring the weapons down.

[Assistant] Her annoyance vanished. "Well, well, well!" Her eyes widened as she registered the moonlit figure with pleasure. Like her, he lacked his full complement of limbs; like her, he had that unusual black hair; and like her, he had managed to survive in this place of death…

[User] "Aldeberan!"

[Assistant] "Don’t call me that." He spat.

[User] "Bah, who cares? I’ve got a feeling like I want to die."

[Assistant] He leveled his dagger at the Hornet. A short, crude weapon, its reach much shorter than the huge sword he usually used. And thus, the man who had fled from her in the arena, the man who had only just avoided being critically injured, came at her again.

[User] "Well! This is unexpected. I didn’t know my sweet little Al was such a hot-blooded man!"

[Assistant] "I’m not a hot-blooded anything. The girl’s just too pretty to let her die so young…and the sight of her blood on that silver hair made me sicker than I expected. And…"

[User] "Yeeees?" The Hornet said, drawing out the question.

[Assistant] Al scowled, but then he chuckled darkly.

[User] The Hornet smiled back, a pleasant thrill running down her spine.

[Assistant] As they stood there grinning at each other, Al said, "The stars were… Naw. It’s my temper that’s bad today."


[User] "The poison should be taking effect by now." Priscilla murmured from her chair.

[Assistant] "Whazzat?" said the small, half-dressed man, his eyes widening.

[User] She held up a finger with a flourish so that they could see. "It’s not difficult. Let me explain it so that even you dim-witted fools can understand: The poison is figurative. There is no actual poison coursing anywhere. Although, there is something that eats away at the life, stealing vitality even as we speak."

[Assistant] "The more you talk, the less sense you make. But I know when I’m bein’ mocked!"


[User] The small man, having drawn a boring guard duty, now grabbed a dagger in each hand and glared at Priscilla. His anger with her words was written on his ugly face, as was the fact that he wanted to take that anger out on her. However…

[Assistant] “If you’re hoping to threaten me, you’re much too late.”

[User] “Yeah? Let’s see how long you can keep up that talk, ya little—”

[Assistant] “Nah, I think she’ll be talkin’ like that until the day she dies.” Someone said, interrupting the howling little man.

[User] He jumped back, ready to fight, but he was caught by a spear blow, a single strike that stabbed him through the face and took his life. He fell on the spot. At the exact same moment, the big man sank to the red carpet with an earsplitting clatter of armor. That was thanks to the man with the saber and the strange haircut—Gajeet, who had killed another sword slave. Accompanying him into the room was…

[Assistant] “You do know how to keep a woman waiting.”

[User] “Aw, I hurried, y’know, I really did. But first, Miles needed to give me a good thrashing, then the high countess told me to bide my time…”

[Assistant] “Enough excuses. You at least have my praise for arriving before the poison finished its work.”

[User] That was the most appreciation Priscilla would offer the slump-shouldered Balleroy. Then she turned and looked at Gajeet. He was one of the drops of poison Priscilla had sown. Now he flicked his companions’ blood off his saber, giving a click of his tongue when he saw her looking at him. Presumably, it all showed that he had chosen to fight against his circumstances in order to take control of his own destiny. If Gajeet was on the move, it most likely meant that the sword slaves in the room with Jorah had made up their minds as well.

[Assistant] “Although, there’s a possibility they’re all dead—along with my beloved husband.”

[User] “Aw, don’t say that, you’re scarin’ me. The high countess told me to protect Count Pendleton too, see.”

[Assistant] “Then we had better get about it.” Priscilla said with consummate detachment. She stood up, straightening her dress as she rose. She had already tired of the transient amusements of this upheaval, and she had a fair idea of what its leader, Ubirk, was up to. All of which meant she couldn’t expect the situation to save her from boredom any longer. Thus, Priscilla Pendleton had but one thing to do—

[User] “For its final act, I must grace this boorish performance with the flower that is myself.”


[Assistant] With the pale moonlight at his back and the drawbridge control tower ahead, he faced off with his most potent enemy.

[User] It was pretty dramatic, if he did say so himself, Al thought ruefully. A one-armed swordsman with a blood-soaked young girl beside him. It was like something out of a heroic legend or a saga—if they both got out alive, that was.


[User] “Heh, I guess this moment could be a picture, too. One of those pictures of Hell,” Al said bitterly. He fought off a pang of remorse as he pointed his dagger forward. In a situation where even his beloved liuyedao would have put him at a disadvantage, being reduced to relying on this sorry excuse for a weapon was even more depressing. Al was quickly beginning to have second thoughts about his decision.

[Assistant] The Hornet flashed him one of those brilliant smiles. “A bad temper, eh?” The Empress of the sword slaves offered him a mocking chuckle.

[User] Al found himself thinking once again what an extraordinary figure she cut.

[Assistant] “Hee! Hee-hee! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” The Hornet laughed, seeming to hug her arms with their great blades tightly, quite uninterested in Al’s appraisal of the situation. She seemed downright delighted, notwithstanding the fact that she was turning her weapons against a longtime companion.

[User] “The hell’s so funny?” Al said.

[Assistant] “Oh, my dear, sweet Al, you ought to know. I’ve always wanted to try a fight to the death with you.”

[User] “Not a fact I ever wanted to know, but yeah, I got an inkling. We had a fight to the death, and I lost like an asshole. You kicked me into the corpse gutter, remember?”

[Assistant] “I dooo. And yet here you are. Which can only mean one thing.”

[User] “Yeah? What’s that?” Sadly for Al, he couldn’t fathom the thoughts of a battle-crazed fighter like her.

[Assistant] “…I’ll never understand you in a million years, Hornet.”

[User] “We don’t have to understand each other, Al, sweetie. If I can have a little fun, that’s all I want.”

[Assistant] “Ugly…brute,” Arakiya mumbled.


[User] "Oh, pipe down and watch me work, young lady. I really took it to heart when you told me I wasn’t an ugly brute."

[Assistant] Arakiya looked back at him, unable to hide the sting of his riposte. She didn’t show much emotion in her one eye, but it was clear as a burning flame that she knew Al was at a disadvantage here.

[User] "An overwhelming disadvantage. Believe me, I know it better than anybody."

[Assistant] "All right then, sweetie, here we go! Don’t die too easily, all right?" The Hornet’s voice was veritably sugary—then she let loose with her blades, and a storm enveloped the bridge.

[User] Al immediately crouched down, raising his knife in hopes of enduring it.

[Assistant] “—!” But he found his weapon swept away—along with his torso—and Al died. Very easily, as it turned out.


[User] "I believe the real aim of this disturbance is the emperor’s head." Priscilla said, picking up the hem of her dress as she stepped over the body of the sword slave who had been standing sentry in the hallway.

[Assistant] "Damn, that’s some guess." Balleroy replied, eyes wide. Just a second ago, he had been thrusting his spear through the sword slave’s heart. The young man had to rush to clear a path for Priscilla, who proceeded ever more fearlessly, but he never voiced a word of complaint. With the tip of his spear dripping blood, he looked around.

[User] "It’s one thing to start a rebellion on the sword-slave island and demand their freedom in the face of the empire. They’ve actually done it, so I guess you can trust them on that. But how does he go after the emperor himself? You don’t think he’d demand the emperor’s head in exchange for releasing the hostages, do you?"

[Assistant] "No, I most assuredly don’t. Nor do I believe the emperor would make any decision that would put his own life in danger, unless perhaps it was the only way to take his opponent’s head…"

[User] "Gosh, I dunno. I think maybe even that’s going a little far." Balleroy said, scratching his cheek and smiling a little at Priscilla’s pronouncement. The bold girl’s words had force in them; if one listened to her without thinking very hard, it would have been all too easy to just start nodding along, to find oneself helplessly agreeing with her. Still, the way she talked as if she knew the emperor personally really seemed like a bridge too far.

[Assistant] "Don’t you think that’s a bit of a leap of logic, Ms. Wife? The best they can hope for is to draw out the Nine Divine Generals—military representatives of the empire. I guess to be fair, it sounds like they may really be over there on that shore…"

[User] "I see you’re at least able to put what semblance of intelligence you do have to work.


[User] "If the Divine Generals do show up, what happens to the island?”

[Assistant] “Well…I guess the rebellion fails, and the sword slaves are beaten into submission.”

[User] Balleroy’s companion, the sword slave Gajeet, looked pained by how readily he said this—but it was a fact.

[Assistant] "Yes, that’s a foregone conclusion."

[User] "Why, then, did their leader plan a rebellion he knew would be crushed?”

[Assistant] “Well, uh…he knew the Divine Generals would come out, and they would definitely destroy him…”

[User] “Most definitely. However, that means that at that same moment, the generals will not be by the emperor’s side.”

[Assistant] Balleroy’s eyes widened again at what Priscilla was saying. He swallowed in spite of himself, chewed over the meaning of her words.

[User] “Naw, naw. I mean, I follow the logic, but one or two generals stepping out for a few minutes wouldn’t be enough to compromise the emperor’s safety. There’s nine of them—that’s why they call them the Nine Divine Generals! So why…?”

[Assistant] “Very well. Then suppose an upheaval were to occur that required the dispatch of all nine. Suppose something were to happen beyond what’s occurring on the sword-slave island.”

[User] “You’re not sayin’…?” Was this a joint operation, meticulously planned in conjunction with something or someone else?

[Assistant] “But that’s ridiculous,” Balleroy said, but once the possibility had been shown to him, he couldn’t get it out of his head.

[User] “The emperor is not a careless man, nor are his bodyguards. I doubt he would send all nine generals away at once. But nonetheless, they would be fewer in number than usual, and thereby, an opportunity might arise.”

[Assistant] “So all the sword slaves on this island are just a big sacrifice play?” Balleroy asked, licking his dry lips with a shudder.


[User] "Hey! This is no freakin’ joke!”

[Assistant] His lips trembled, and his eyes blazed with anger. “The emperor’s head?! Who gives a shit about that? We just want—”

[User] “To escape from the dead end you find yourselves in? Your prosaic motivations made it a simple matter to manipulate you. You should have tried using your heads first." Priscilla said mercilessly.

[Assistant] “Hrn! Why, you little…!” Gajeet turned his unsheathed saber on Priscilla’s neck.

[User] "C’mon, now, that’s enough, Brother. Ms. Wife isn’t the one you should be angry at. Won’t get you nothing doing that.” Balleroy shrugged.

[Assistant] “Shaddap! So it won’t get me anything, will it? If you’re right about all this, then nothing will get me anything! Trying to free the island, that was one thing, but kill the emperor? We’re accomplices to that? !”

[User] “Naw, the lady’s just guessin’. She doesn’t know for sure.”

[Assistant] “I told you to shut up, spearman. I know you’re just trying to talk me down. But I…I believed the runt earlier!”

[User] Balleroy closed an eye as he sank into thought. As much as he sympathized with Gajeet’s position, though, Balleroy closed an eye as he sank into thought.

[Assistant] “What are you dawdling about for? What are you mulling over, Balleroy Temeglyph?” Priscilla spoke his name. She showed nothing less than total composure despite the blade at her neck.

[User] “This world bends itself to suit me.”

[Assistant] “As such, your own choices cannot harm me.


[User] "I urge you to remember that.” She was saying she was the very center of the world—and she said it so easily.

[Assistant] Balleroy swallowed, struck by the pronouncement.

[User] Gajeet swallowed, struck by the pronouncement.

[Assistant] “Hrrrahhh!”

[User] “Gagh!” —there was a husky shout, and a piece of rubble came flying in, striking Gajeet in the side of the head. He exclaimed with the impact, which was swiftly followed by a leaping figure holding another chunk of debris that slammed mercilessly into the sword slave’s head. Gajeet went down hard, his saber clattering as it skipped across the floor of the passageway.

[Assistant] “Huh! Turning a weapon on the high countess. I’ve never heard of such insolence!”

[User] “M-Miles? Brother?” Balleroy said in shock.

[Assistant] “Fine work you did, standing around like an idiot! What if Count Pendleton’s wife had been hurt while you were dithering? What then, ya great bozo?”

[User] “I’m not an idiot or a bozo, Brother…,” Balleroy said, his shoulders slumping. His older brother might have been shouting so angrily that spit was flying from his mouth, but at the same time, his presence started to relieve the sense of isolation that had been gripping Balleroy. The thought banished the clouds that had made it so hard to decide how to deal with Gajeet.

[Assistant] “They say even the biggest containers have lids that will close them. Although I must say, your lid is a rather unpleasant-looking one.” There was a smile on her lips as she spoke.

[User] “Never been much of a thinker. I’ve always let Miles be the brains.”

[Assistant] “Hmm? What are you talking about? Bah, who cares! Young mistress, are you all right? The high countess has been worried!” Miles, mostly ignoring Balleroy, hefted Gajeet up off the ground and tried to see if Priscilla was unhurt. Gajeet was evidently still alive, for he groaned quietly, but his conviction had fled him.

[User] “She sure is. Not a scratch on her. Just like the high countess wanted!”

[Assistant] “Shut yer hole! I wasn’t asking you! Why should I trust you anyway? You were just standing there watching the enemy! The one who saved the young mistress from danger was me! Miles!”

[User] “You are as bad as he is. This is no time to be squalling like a cat in heat. I am not hurt. Now let’s go.” She promptly turned around.


[User] Miles and Balleroy were about to follow her.

[Assistant] "Er, Ms. Wife? You won’t find Count Pendleton over there…"

[User] "Don’t be ridiculous. My beloved husband can wait. Our enemies’ true aim might be the death of the emperor, but our most salient crisis is here on this very island. First, we must end this rebellion."

[Assistant] "What’s that? They want to kill the emperor? W-wait— They want to what?! What are you talking about? !"

[User] Balleroy ignored him. "All right, so what, then?" he asked Priscilla.

[Assistant] "That sword slave earlier gave us a fine demonstration. All we need to do is alert them to their situation."


[User] The island of Ginonhive offered a variety of entertainments featuring its sword slaves. The simplest was a straightforward one-on-one death match. Sometimes, there might be team battles, three-on-three or five-on-five. Sometimes, a massive demon beast might be brought in, and the sword slaves would be forced to fight it in a “raid”-style battle. Anything to sate the spectators’ lust for blood and gore. On the sword-slave island, any battle could be permitted if it would slake the audience’s thirst for violence. But even in that context, it was hard to call what was happening now a battle. After all…

[Assistant] "Don’t die too easily."


[User] “Dooonaaa!” Around scenario twenty by his count, he tried a desperate burst of magic. No aim, just an incantation, the spell sending the flagstones atop the bridge flying. Specifically, flying toward the Hornet, giving her something to swing her swords at other than Al. Al seized the instantaneous opening, taking his life in his hands as he rushed in, just barely dodging the first riposte. Then he had some distance, and knowing he had cleared the first deadly hurdle, he—

[Assistant] “Hrgh!” —was about to let out a sigh of relief when a blow from above crushed his head.

[User] “Don’t die too easily.”

[Assistant] “Dooonaaa!” Starting from the moment he’d intoned his magic, he jumped backward, coordinating his movements with those of the stone debris. Then without so much as taking a breath, he leaped to the side. A howling blow slammed into the floor, making it seem as if the whole bridge was shaking violently. The Hornet, with one great blade lodged in the ground, twisted, closing in on Al with a strike that smashed through the hallway. Al jumped over the crushing blow, and then his thrust reached the Hornet. Unfortunately, she batted away his most powerful attack like he were a biting insect.

[User] “That’s what I wanted! Oh, my sweet Al, I knew you could do it!”

[Assistant] “You think? I’ve been fightin’ this whole time with my life flashing before my eyes. I think I’m out of my league!” With apologies to the suitably pleased Hornet, she and Al were all but living in different worlds. She might see him as someone who dug deep and found the ability to rise to an occasion when there was a real crisis—but in Al’s opinion, the longer the fight went on, the more worn down he got; that was how it always went. Whenever he found himself confronted with the truly strong like this, he had the same thought: I could never be like them. It wasn’t because of his one arm, and it wasn’t because of his age. It was more fundamental, something to do with his basic makeup as a living being. There was a famous proverb that went Why is the tiger strong? Because she’s a tiger. It was just like that. The strong were strong because they were born strong. The weak were weak because they were born weak. Nothing more, nothing less. And so…

[User] “I’m not done yet! Let’s have a little more fun!” said the strong one, the Hornet, gleefully bringing her blades to bear. And Al, the weakling, would most likely be crushed, trampled underfoot many more times—tens, hundreds, thousands.


[User] The one trading blows with the user of the huge swords, the Hornet, was the man who had brought her this far. Apparently, his name was Al, given that the Hornet kept referring to him as “my sweet little Al.” The fact that Al somehow continued to survive against the Hornet looked to Arakiya like nothing short of a whole series of miracles.

[Assistant] Sad to say, in her eyes, Al’s abilities were no more than second-rate—if she was being generous. Having spent his life on the sword-slave island, he must have survived many battles for his very life. But he couldn’t hope to improve his abilities further, even with more of these mortal contests.

[User] The man named Al had reached the limits of his natural abilities, and it left him with a gulf to the Empress of the sword slaves, a chasm of power, talent, and skill, that would be difficult to bridge. Arakiya judged that if she’d felt like it, even she could have taken Al out in a matter of seconds. And yet she was confronted with the reality she saw before her. “Amazing…”

[Assistant] It wasn’t that her estimation of Al’s skill had improved, but rather Al’s fighting style—the way he would parry or dodge the Hornet’s attacks by a hairbreadth, then attempt a pitiful counterattack—that gradually turned Arakiya’s opinion. He should have been dead by now. With those skills, he shouldn’t have lasted two seconds against the Hornet. And yet here he was, still alive and even trying to fight back.

[User] Unlike Arakiya, who had hoped to slip past unseen—an underhanded tactic—Al faced the Hornet head-on, and he kept fighting. And he did all this—taking on the Hornet—to protect Arakiya. “—!” She gritted her teeth and forced strength into her arms and legs.

[Assistant] She hadn’t exactly been cut by the blow from the giant sword; it was more the impact itself that had threatened to crush the young woman. She suspected she had a number of broken bones, not to mention a range of internal injuries.

[User] She was using the power of the water spirit she’d ingested to speed up her recovery, but she wouldn’t heal quickly. What was more…

[Assistant] “Ding.” The Hornet said warningly, turning toward Arakiya.

[User] Even as she’d been fighting with Al, she’d been keeping track of what Arakiya was doing. If Arakiya had tried to make a break for the control tower, the Hornet would no doubt have broken off her fight to stop her. And as much as she hated to admit it, unlike Al, Arakiya couldn’t fathom any way to dodge such an attack. She would be buried by the blow, and there would have been no point to Al’s jumping out to help her. So what was there that Arakiya could do?


[User] Arakiya, who hadn’t been able to repay the most important person in her life even the slightest bit… “Princess…” She murmured, casting her eyes to the ground at the thought of the one who had been like a second self to her.

[Assistant] Someone who had been by her side since birth but who could be by her side no longer.

[User] The imperious young woman who had looked as if she ruled the entire world and who had certainly ruled Arakiya.

[Assistant] "Hear me, you sword-slave rabble!" A voice dripping arrogance echoed around the island, startling Arakiya and stopping Al and the Hornet in the middle of their battle.

[User] "There is no future for your uprising. Your leader seeks the emperor’s head; this talk of freedom for the sword slaves is nothing but a diversion. You’ve been had. You are nothing but pitiful headless soldiers."

[Assistant] "Only death awaits you fools. However, your new emperor is not without mercy. If you show the proper attitude, he may reconsider your fate. I advise you to use the wits in those missing heads and determine how you will act."

[User] "Now, O headless soldiers! If you want any hope of getting your heads back, this is your last opportunity!" With that, before Arakiya could even overcome her stupefaction, the condescending voice cut off, having said what it wished to say.

[Assistant] It had been broadcast through communications devices peppered around the area—metal tubes that carried the voice—and Arakiya, Al, and the Hornet were not the only ones who had heard it. It had reached every corner of the island. Arakiya was so shocked that she barely had space left in her brain to consider what the voice had actually said.

[User] “Dunno who that was, but I guess they’re lookin’ to turn the tide on you.” Al said.

[Assistant] “Yes, I guess so. And I’m sure the cowards among us will turn traitor. Even if we might have pulled it off, depending how things went.”

[User] “Heh, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t believe it was ever going to work.”

[Assistant] “Tee-hee-hee!” The Hornet hugged her swords to herself and laughed, her body producing a creaking sound as it spasmed.

[User] “Hey,” Al said, looking at her with genuine distaste.

[Assistant] “I know it’s crazy to talk about having a stable life in this place, but did you really take Ubirk so seriously that you were willing to ditch what you had? Tell me you’re not really trying to kill the emperor.”


[User] “Ohh, of course not. The emperor lives above the clouds, and I couldn’t care less about him. If he was a great warrior, I might be interested in having a fight with him, but it doesn’t sound like it.”

[Assistant] “Yeah, that’s what I hear, too. So what you were after was a test of your strength. You take over the island, then try your hand against whichever of the Nine Divine Generals they send after you. You’re nuts, lady.”

[User] The Hornet never stopped smiling. She didn’t deny it—which meant he was right.

[Assistant] “Why not let us put the drawbridge down, then?”

[User] “Good question. Oh, but the sweet temptation of fighting my dear Al called to me. Not to mention all the other sweet little sword slaves I’ve never got to battle. I just thought—”

[Assistant] “Okay, hold on, time-out. I don’t think I want to hear the rest of this…”

[User] “I thought first I would kill everyone on the island, and when I was out of people to fight, then I would lower the bridge.”

[Assistant] “I just said I didn’t want to hear it.” Al scowled, disgusted by the Hornet’s blasphemous notion. She planned to kill everyone on the island—the sword slaves, everyone connected with the sword slaves, all the spectators who had come to watch the sword slaves—and then when she’d had her fill of their blood, she would throw herself into battle with the Nine Divine Generals. A sort of grand take on suicide.

[User] “You don’t really believe you’re the strongest in the whole world, do you? The strongest person I know about in this world is walkin’ around Lugunica with an elementary schooler’s backpack right about now.”

[Assistant] “I’m not under any illusions that I’m the strongest. No, no, not at all. I’ll run out of strength sometime during the fighting and die.”

[User] "" Al said nothing to that.

[Assistant] “But that’s all right by me, you see? Falling gloriously in battle is what I want. By my family name, I swear I’m going to put on a show for them before I go.” The Hornet licked her lips in anticipation of the battle as she described the manner of her death. She was showing that her mind was made up, that she had no intention of retreating.

[User] Al screwed up his black eyes as he watched this warrior make her mad pronouncement, then took the feeble dagger in his hand and scratched his own neck with the blade. Then he said, “Everyone reads too much into dying. It’s ridiculous.”

[Assistant] "" This time, it was the Hornet’s turn to say nothing.

[User] “Death isn’t salvation, and it’s not a treasure. It’s just painful and sad. Why don’t you understand that?” He looked at her coldly, with disgust.


[User] He felt nothing but contempt for her. The depth of feeling in Al’s dark eyes was cruel enough to freeze the heart of any who saw him. There was an abyss within them, a place tenebrous and deep into which none had ever gazed. It was such that even the Hornet, who had never looked other than in control, found herself lost for words, stymied by his assertion that the thing she had lived and would die for was trivial, ridiculous.

[Assistant] "I will…fight, too."

[User] “Hey, young lady, I don’t think you should push yourself too hard. Just stay there and rest.”

[Assistant] "No… I can’t do that." Arakiya crawled forward on all fours before rising to her feet. Her mauled shoulder had re-formed itself, and her bones had begun to knit, so that at least she no longer looked like she might fall apart every time she moved. She was still far from fully healed, but she couldn’t let Al fight this battle completely on his own. How could she ever face the princess again if she allowed someone to die after he was drawn into a fight because of her own incompetence? “The princess…” The voice she had heard during the announcement belonged to the most important girl in Arakiya’s life. It proved that she had not changed at all. She was still arrogant, still firmly convinced that she held the world in the palm of her hand. That had been the voice of this world’s ruler. Hearing that voice, Arakiya’s soul had burned within her. She was still under that girl’s control. “I still…belong…to the princess!” Knowing that, feeling it in her bones, made Arakiya happier than anything else.

[User] When Al saw the flare of her crimson eye, he seemed to decide it would be no more use arguing. Instead, he got a fresh grip on his weapon and faced forward again, he and Arakiya pincering the Hornet, with him in front of her and Arakiya behind. “All right, Hornet. We’ll grant your wish and finish you. Because there ain’t anyone who can beat me.”


[Assistant] Holding the communications device with one hand, Priscilla leaned back away from the broadcasting unit. She could tell that her announcement—that the armed rebellion on Ginonhive was really just a prelude to the attempted assassination of the emperor—had inspired a fresh hubbub around the island. Just as she’d hoped, infighting had begun among the sword slaves. “Those who believe in the success of this rebellion and those who have the slightest bit of sense in their heads have begun to embrace different objectives. Thus, we have two groups with opposing goals—and both of them are armed. They’re also both accustomed to brutal fights to the death, so it goes without saying that whoever attacks first will have the advantage.”

[User] “Sure looks that way.” He’d been listening very carefully and probably had an even better grasp of the situation on the island than Priscilla.


[User] He was putting all five of his well-honed senses to work.

[Assistant] “Mm.” He nodded. “It looks just like you said, Ms. Wife—lots of arguing and fighting starting here, there, everywhere. If we leave ’em to their own devices, they’ll probably tear each other apart.”

[User] “You really think it’ll go that well? These people aren’t bugs or fish. They’ll realize they’re in trouble as soon as their numbers start to noticeably drop. Though, I agree we can probably just keep our heads down until then.”

[Assistant] “No, we cannot.”

[User] “Once they’re reduced to chiefly those who can use their heads to some extent, it will be time to implement the next phase of our plan. The initiation of new negotiations, with the powerful people as hostages without relying on their ringleader.”

[Assistant] “Ah!” Miles saw what she was getting at; Balleroy, meanwhile, continued to look perplexed. Priscilla saw that Serena had been quite right: The two of them complemented each other nicely, Balleroy with his slightly lacking wits and Miles making up in intelligence what he lacked in fighting strength. Miles fell somewhat short of Priscilla’s standards, which prized physical beauty as well—but taking Balleroy by himself wouldn’t be worthwhile, either. For her beloved husband’s sake, she would consider this a victory if she could maintain relations with the high countess.

[User] “Miles, Brother, do you get the weird feeling that we’re bein’…evaluated?”

[Assistant] “Well, you don’t have to say it out loud, moron. Still…for a kid so young, she’s sure got some presence. Noble and imposing. You just wanna discipline her.” The brothers leaned toward each other for a whispered conversation, but Priscilla’s special ears easily picked up their secrets. Miles’s sadistic remark was technically disrespectful, but so long as he didn’t act on it, Priscilla didn’t feel compelled to consider it an offense. A man with a desire for her was a man who would put himself in her service. “” Feeling their eyes on her, Priscilla continued down the hallway at a brisk pace. If anyone attempted to bar her way, Balleroy quickly dispatched them. Even the experienced warriors of the sword-slave island were no match for his spear skills. Finally, Priscilla arrived untouched at the room she had been looking for.

[User] “I advise you to move aside, peasants. I am here to retrieve my husband.”

[Assistant] “Wha? !” The men in the room were amazed to find Priscilla kicking down the door and making demands.

[User] “Priscilla? !” he exclaimed at the appearance of his wife.

[Assistant] Priscilla clicked her tongue at the way Jorah forgot that she was going by an assumed name. "That’s the trouble with my dear husband—losing his mind just because he turned fifty,” Priscilla muttered as she grabbed a vase of flowers by the door and flung it into the room.


[User] Her aim was true; the vase struck the back of the chair Jorah was sitting in, knocking it over along with its occupant. It meant that just for an instant, the men in the room didn’t know where Jorah had gone. And in that instant…

[Assistant] “Go, Balleroy.”

[User] “Yep. As you wish, m’lady.” Commanded by name, Balleroy was off like a shot, piercing to the center of the room like a beam of light. The men had been slow to react to Priscilla, but they responded to this new intruder by drawing their weapons. The six of them all moved at once to meet Balleroy. They were too slow. In the space of a second, his spear described a great half circle.

[Assistant] “Ya think a spear’s just for stabbing? Think again. It’s good for sweeping, too.” Balleroy winked one eye—and then the three men whose stomachs he’d slit open spilled their innards all over the floor. The trio pitched forward, adding themselves to the piles of their own guts.

[User] “Yaaaah!” Two of the surviving sword slaves leaped over the corpses of their three companions, trying to make a move against Balleroy. One was a hand-to-hand fighter with hobnails pounded into his fists, and the other, a beast person with a hand ax in each hand. Neither had the reach of a spear, but if they could get in close enough, they would have a distinct advantage. Indeed, they did manage to get close and were trying to press their gains when—

[Assistant] “Spear users can only use spears. Is that what you’re thinking? Another lil’ misconception there.” Balleroy’s left fist came down at the face of the fighter, costing the man his consciousness as well as his front teeth. Balleroy had tossed his spear to his right hand, leaving his left free to strike. The unconscious man fell backward—directly into the line of the beast person’s ax attack. There was a dull thump of the ax connecting with the back of the man’s head, depriving his absent consciousness of anywhere to return to. The beast person, unfazed, attempted to push clear through his companion’s head to smash Balleroy’s slim frame. The sheer physical strength this demi-human wielded was something to behold, but—

[User] “I’m still faster.” Balleroy let go of the spear with his right hand, lashing out with a spear-hand strike. His two extended fingers caught the beast person in the face, jabbing into his eyeballs and blinding him. The beast person gave a howl of pain and stumbled backward. That he exposed his neck while doing so was the ultimate mistake. Balleroy stepped on the man’s windpipe with one foot, caught his spear up in his left hand, and rammed the butt into the man’s throat. The beast person fell back, choking on his own blood, twitching, unable even to utter a death rattle. With that, five of the six men in the room were dead.


[User] "Don’t move! If you take one step, I’ll—" He struggles to hold his dagger to Jorah’s neck.

[Assistant] "—Hkk!" Miles shouts from the doorway, and the ceiling collapses.

[User] A winged dragon sticks its head through the hole and latches on to the man’s head, who was threatening Jorah. The man is dragged upward and out, his scream echoing behind him. Blood pours through the eviscerated ceiling, drenching Jorah.

[Assistant] "Gah?! Blood? This is blood! Priscilla, I’m done for…"

[User] "Fool. It’s not your blood. It belongs to a commoner." Priscilla sniffs, looking at Jorah. She glances up at the sky dragon peering down through the ceiling. It was one of the winged dragons that had brought them to the island. She presumes it was Miles’ pet. "A fine performance. However…"

[Assistant] "That’s everyone in here, ain’t it? What about that, uh, ringleader?"

[User] Priscilla glances around. Ubirk is not among the dead. Priscilla narrows her crimson eyes as she looks at the corpses. Balleroy rests his spear on his shoulder, looking for the same thing. Ubirk was nowhere to be seen.

[Assistant] "Perhaps he’s fled the entire island."

[User] "But the drawbridge’s still up. Ain’t no way out of here."

[Assistant] "No easy way. But it might still be possible to get around. Even the emperor in his capital has access to hidden devices akin to magic that allow one to move instantaneously to a distant location."

[User] "Yikes! I feel like I could be killed just for knowin’ that."

[Assistant] Priscilla reevaluates her opinion of Balleroy and Miles. She goes to the balcony, listening to the battle.

[User] "Priscilla? Ahem, I think it may be dangerous to stay here for very long…"

[Assistant] "Things are already settled for the most part. All that remains is for the sword slaves to decide where they stand. As for the drawbridge, there are any number of ways to bring it down." She closes her eyes. "For the moment, I’m enjoying listening to the breeze."

[User] The clash of swords could be heard, the sound of everything being shattered, destroyed.


[User] The most noticeable crash of all came from the direction of the still-raised drawbridge. Along with the great gusts of wind and the clamor of fighting, she heard a small sound, something like a rat struggling desperately for its life.

[Assistant] “They say a cornered rat knows how to bite. I wonder who will be consumed in the end.”

[User] Arakiya’s participation changed the face of the battle against the Hornet. Now worrying not only about his own death, but also Arakiya’s, Al felt like his head was going to explode from the massive surge of thoughts rising from within. “I don’t know your quirks, I don’t know anything about you—how are we supposed to fight together? !”

[Assistant] “Just move in tandem…”

[User] “You think I’m quick-witted enough for that? !” Arakiya was a spirit eater; she could consume spirits and use them to manifest special powers. She was too special, in fact; Al had never done any “simulations” about how to work with someone like her. The way she fought on all fours, even using her teeth, made him think of some wild animal, but seeing a beautiful but underdeveloped girl like Arakiya do it had something sordid and erotic about it. The impression was only reinforced by the fact that their opponent was another beautiful woman, this one without arms. “Would’ve liked to record this match, if I could’ve been a spectator watching from a safe distance."

[Assistant] “Well! It’s an honor to get a compliment from you.” There was a broad smile on her face as she lashed out with her swords, the start of a combo move that saw Al avoid death by a hair; he’d seen the attack enough times over their dozens of rematches to have discovered a way to survive it. He felt the impact through his entire arm, clutching his dagger as hard as he could to keep it from being wrenched out of his hand. It might not be much, but a weapon was a weapon. If he lost this thing, he could expect to lose his other arm shortly thereafter.

[User] “Hrn! Dooona!” he cried as he stumbled backward under the blow; his incantation lofted several chunks of rock from the ground.

[Assistant] The Hornet calmly guarded against any attacks from the dead angles created by the stone, but she seemed annoyed by the little twig who’d stuck her nose into their battle. “You are troublesome,” she said with a snorting laugh, and then she jammed both of her blades into the flagstones. From there, she deftly dodged Arakiya’s flame-clad charge, and then the Empress poured her strength into her arms and began to spin—tearing up the floor. With the ground beneath their feet suddenly giving way, Al and Arakiya were sucked into the storm of destruction. They each gave a short shout as they dropped from just in front of the drawbridge toward the lowest levels of the island.


[User] Al fell helplessly, but Arakiya kicked off a passing wall and grabbed him, stabilizing them.

[Assistant] "Gah! Th-thanks, kid. Ya saved me…"

[User] "It is all right. But I haven’t saved you. That is yet to come.”


[Assistant] Al and Arakiya squinted, trying to see beyond the dust cloud they’d kicked up.

[User] The Hornet was easily slicing through the eruption of dust. She rubbed her blades together, creating an earsplitting shriek of metal, and laughed. "Now we have a little more space for our fight. Oh, my sweet Al, I hope you’ll show me a good time.”

[Assistant] “…If I hit at your feet with a twig, there’s about a sixty percent chance that you’ll destroy the bridge.”

[User] "? What did you say?” the Hornet asked, perplexed by Al’s words. The smile froze on her face.

[Assistant] "When the bridge comes down, the girl saves me a hundred percent of the time. She’s a loyal one. When I charge in the moment you start your little sword dance, my head gets crushed. If I just watch you, I get sliced up, and even if I try to run away, a little over seventy percent of the time, the girl and I turn out not to be on the same page.”

[User] "It’s all trial and error, seven hundred thirteen times. You’ve killed me seven hundred thirteen times tonight.”

[Assistant] "Huh. Actually, if we count that first battle in the arena, I guess it’s seven hundred ninety-two times.” The Hornet, struck dumb, could only listen to Al calmly explaining…something.

[User] Al was honestly impressed that she didn’t interrupt him or burst out laughing about how ridiculous he sounded. It suggested the Hornet understood that he wasn’t trying to threaten her and wasn’t out of his mind. That must mean…

[Assistant] "You can see it, too, can’t you? The god of death I’m stuck with.”

[User] “…I can’t see anything at all, including what any of this babble means. I haven’t managed to kill you even once, Al, sweetie. But…” She paused, her eyes filling with bloodlust and desire. "Getting to kill you eight hundred times sounds like a dream come true to me.” The Hornet leaned forward easily, her face flushing with excitement. It was the first phase of her deadliest sword dance. It could lead to any of several patterns, but all of them ended in death. The only thing that could be done was not let her start in the first place. In order to protect himself, he had to…

[Assistant] "All right, sweetie, we’re done with all this worthless chitchat. Get ready.”

[User] "It wasn’t worthless.”

[User] "Everything I’ve done was to buy time.”

[Assistant] The Hornet frowned at that—but then Al saw the effect of his work. “Wha…?” the Hornet rasped and fell to her knees. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her breathing grew noticeably quicker.


[User] Al stood over her, and as he looked down, he understood that he found no pleasure in making another person kneel before him. Thinking of what he owed her for that battle against the demon beast four years before, he decided to fill her in. “It’s poison.”

[Assistant] "Ah… —ison…” The Hornet looked at him, her face a mask of disbelief and pain.

[User] “Got the idea from an old movie. They say poison’s killed more people than any other weapon.”

[Assistant] “Poi…son…? When did I…take…?”

[User] “I mixed it up right here. Here where they put the bodies.” Shaking his head, Al explained to the Hornet that here in the deepest reaches of the island was where they kept the corpses. He’d mentioned this to Arakiya—the idea that certain spectators with particularly twisted tastes liked to buy the bodies of those who had lost their lives in especially spectacular fashion. They each had their reasons, whether it was because the fighter came from somewhere special or was uniquely beautiful, or so that the buyer could dissect a person’s most unusual skills. Any number of things. Among the corpses collected for this purpose was the one Al wanted. Specifically… “A bit back, I fought a guy, a shinobi, who had the Poison Hand. He must have been soaked in the stuff to the bitter end. I asked the young lady to burn him up for me.”

[Assistant] “H—”

[User] “The poison carries on the wind. And you breathed it in.”


[Assistant] The Hornet pitched forward on the floor, her eyes bloodshot and wide. The way her body shivered and twitched made it look almost like the Empress of the sword slaves was begging forgiveness from Al and Arakiya. The Empress of the sword slaves, who had made so many kneel before her, now found herself in the reverse position.

[User] “Sure glad that poison gas worked. And it took a lot of trial and error to get you right over this spot when the floor smashed in. Glad it went off without a hitch.”

[Assistant] “N-no… Wait. P-poison? You used…poison? On me? It’s not…fair…”

[User] “Fair? You’re freakin’ joking, right? There’s no right or wrong when it comes to surviving on the sword-slave island. Or did you not even know that, rookie?” The Hornet could call him whatever she wanted as she wept tears of blood, but Al was merciless. Though the Hornet had dominated the island with her prowess, bending it to her will, she had misunderstood something: It was not the strong who were the victors here. It was whoever won. Inundate the opponent with poison gas, use a second fighter to corner them—it didn’t matter. If you won, you won. “If the gas hadn’t worked, it would’ve been pretty tricky.


[User] "Would’ve had to bring down the whole island, maybe, or crush you with the drawbridge… I probably didn’t even have ten more ideas up my sleeve. And no clue if any of ’em would’ve worked," Al said softly. "hhh…"

[Assistant] The Hornet, her eyes clouded by the bloodred tears, was afraid of him. She understood that this was no lie, this talk of ways of winning that he hadn’t tried. Even if the poison hadn’t been available, Al had still had ways of killing her. The Hornet would never get to realize her dreams of entertaining herself with murderous contests. The moment she had chosen to fight Al to the death, that possibility had winked out of existence.

[User] Chewing over that reality, the Hornet discovered her own sort of acceptance within the agony; whoever won, whoever survived, was stronger. It was a very Volakian way of acknowledging one’s defeat. And so finally, she crawled up to Al. "Al… Sweetie… Finish me…off…" She begged him to finish what he had started with his own hand, to give her an end worthy of the Empress of the sword slaves.

[Assistant] Al winced. And then… "What, ya want me to at least deal the final blow? Hey, I get it, but…"

[User] "Ah…"

[Assistant] "But you never know what someone might do if you get too close to them at the last moment. I’m gonna stand right here and wait for you to die." With his teeth, Al freed the dirty rag that had been securing his dagger in his hand and got a little more distance from the Hornet. She’d used the last of her strength to crawl forward like a potato bug, but he had denied her request to be her executioner, and the despair of that fact gripped her afresh as he stepped away. So the Empress of the sword slaves would not have the fitting end she desired—Al scratched his chin with his free hand as he contemplated the desolation this brought to her face, which had always before been full of self-assurance. Next, he scratched his head, turning a look of pity upon his acquaintance, who could no longer hear him. "I told ya, Hornet. I said it’d be boring to fight me."


[User] Once the drawbridge was lowered and the troops on the far shore came across, defeat was assured. Although, it should be said that defeat was largely accomplished the moment the voice of the young girl on the announcement system revealed the plotters’ true intentions. The Divine Generals and the rest of the relief troops found themselves handling a simple mop-up operation. And it was going quite well… "Heeey, Arakiya. Old Gramps won’t let you get away with this—a strange man so much older than you! How much older is he anyway? Can’t keep him around—I suppose we’ll just have to kill him."

[Assistant] “…What are you talking about?” Arakiya asked.

[User] "Gah-ha-ha-ha-ha! This is just how old men talk. You don’t think it’s funny? Oh… You don’t.


[User] "Right, right, it’s not a pretty sight when an old man does that sort of thing. My mistake, my mistake." The source of the raucous laughter was a diminutive, white-haired old man—Orbart Dankelken.

[Assistant] Arakiya was somewhat bemused by the behavior of the man who claimed to be number Three of the Nine Divine Generals.

[User] Al, who had been hauled in front of the old guy, was even more confused. Al was exhausted through and through; he wanted nothing more than to fling himself down somewhere and go to sleep. Of course, he wouldn’t say that to Orbart if it killed him (literally).

[Assistant] "You’re the one, aren’t you? You helped lower the bridge. You were a big help. Especially seeing as if I didn’t get this all squared away in a hurry, His Excellency would’ve killed me."

[User] Al’s instincts were warning him urgently that despite the old man’s comical demeanor, his power was even greater than that of the Hornet, whom Al had only escaped after hundreds and hundreds of attempts. Al had definitely considered the Hornet the third or fourth most powerful person he’d encountered in his life—but that ranking was quickly changing.


[User] "The world’s a big place…but this little island has been enough for me."

[Assistant] "No worldly desires, is that it? You’re…well, not quite young enough to be called a youngster, I guess. Though, most people are youngsters from my perspective! And young people are supposed to have dreams, aren’t they?"

[User] "Dreams, huh? Already had myself a good one." Al glances at Arakiya, who stood beside the venerable man. He reached out and patted her head, with its dusty silver hair. Arakiya still looked a bit confused, but she accepted his gesture.

[Assistant] "I dreamed I was able to protect a beautiful, silver-haired young lady. It was the thing I had to do in all my lives."

[User] "Hey now, are you serious? I won’t let you have Arakiya, y’know. That’s a dream too far!"

[Assistant] "I’m fond of her. That don’t mean I’m romantically interested. Silver hair’s my one dealbreaker." Al pulled his hand back as he tried to placate Orbart’s simple wariness.

[User] "Um… This ugly brute. What will happen to him?" Arakiya, more or less divorced from their conversation, looked at Orbart

[Assistant] "Those piercing words! And she doesn’t even mean anything by them! My heart…"

[User] "Him? Nothing. If he wants a reward, I’ll give him one if my authority can make it happen. And if he wants to get out of here, I think he’s earned it." Orbart glanced over at Al.

[Assistant] Al nodded at Orbart just the same.

[User] "That’s right. I don’t need anything. Got no plans to leave here, either. If I had to pick something, I’d just ask that there was still a here to be."

[Assistant] "Don’t think you need to worry about that. The empire’s got no shortage of villains, and this little episode just got us a whole heap of new criminals. We’ll replenish the numbers here in no time! Gah-hah-hah-hah!" Orbart guffawed again, pounding Al on the shoulder. Then the old man turned to leave, and Arakiya was about to follow him.


[User] "Thank you." She didn’t turn all the way around—just turned her head to look at him.

[Assistant] Al just shrugged at that. "Douitashimashite, kid."

[User] "...I don’t know what that means."

[Assistant] "That’s all the thanks I need. Full marks. Oh man, I’m getting goose bumps… Have a long life, kid."

[User] Arakiya knit her brow for a second, but then she nodded, and this time, she did follow Orbart off.

[Assistant] Al watched her go, then gave a great stretch.


[User] The uprising on the sword-slave island had been quelled, and most of the people he knew, including the Hornet, were dead. There was just one exception—rumor had it that the chief culprit, Ubirk, was gone without a trace. A bit of a surprise considering his plan had supposedly encompassed not only Ginonhive, but also rebellions all over the empire that were only a prelude to the ultimate murder of the emperor. Well, the emperor was still kicking, and Al told himself that Ubirk was probably fish food or something. A fitting fate for a worthless, stupid fugitive who had no right to be screwing around with the destinies of others. “Huh. Guess I changed that Arakiya girl’s destiny, though.”

[Assistant] Because of him, Arakiya would live on, maybe find someone, have kids, have grandkids and great grandkids. Maybe a whole new family line would spring from her. That could revolutionize the world in unimaginable ways. It might turn out to be one of the few marks Al had left on the world. “I can just imagine how badly my teacher would beat me if I started talking like that.” Al said, scratching his head.

[User] Al turned to go back into the sword-slave island. No matter who was no longer there, no matter if no one wanted him, this was his place. The one place his existence was permitted, a paradise for black sheep like him. “‘Headless soldiers,’ huh…,” Al mumbled, suddenly recalling the voice he’d heard over the announcement system.

[Assistant] “Headless soldiers” had been the girl’s contemptuous description of the sword slaves who had risen up in armed rebellion thoughtlessly—but Al wasn’t so different from them. She’d told the fools to get their heads back. “A cruel woman, her.”

[User] Confronting people with the truth wasn’t always enough to save those who lived in lies. Shivering at that bloodred declaration, lacking every hint of kindness, Al licked his dried-out lips. If he hoped for anything, it was that he and the owner of that arrogant voice would never meet as long as he lived.


[Assistant] "In a way, I rather enjoyed myself on this little excursion. Allow me to thank you on behalf of my husband." Priscilla said, her arrogance undiminished, as they sat in the parlor of the Pendleton mansion. She brought a cup to her lips as she spoke.

[User] "As your host, it is a burden off my shoulders to hear you say that. And speaking of your husband, I don’t believe I see him. Where might he be?" Serena smiled and accepted Priscilla’s expression of gratitude.

[Assistant] "He’s been indisposed in the days since our trip. Overstimulated. He’s a weakling, you see."

[User] "If what Miles and Balleroy told me is true, I can’t blame the count for feeling overwhelmed. But in any case, I’m glad to hear that he’s safe."

[Assistant] Priscilla smiled quietly; such decency was unexpected from the Scorching Lady, known for the depths of her brutality.


[User] “It seems our new emperor can relax, despite having just assumed the throne. I will watch with great interest to see whether he can really handle the task he so eagerly took upon himself.”

[Assistant] “So you take that tone even with regards to His Majesty the Emperor. You are indeed quite something, young wife. And…”

[User] “And what?”

[Assistant] “It’s nothing. I owe you a debt, I’m afraid. I put you in danger.” Serena shrugged. She was referring to how Priscilla had assumed Serena’s identity—and the danger that went with it—on the sword-slave island.

[User] “I don’t like owing people. I want to repay my debt as quickly as possible. Is there anything you want? Aside from my subordinates, whom I’m afraid I can’t part with…”

[Assistant] “Don’t make me repeat myself. If I desired your lackeys for myself, I would not bother to ask for your permission. They would come to me of their own accord.”

[User] “Is that so? A frightening prospect in itself. Very well. This debt is to remain, then?”

[Assistant] “For the time being, yes.”

[User] Serena frowned and looked at Priscilla, who noticed again the white sword scar that ran along the left side of the woman’s face.

[Assistant] Priscilla winked her own left eye but looked squarely back at the high countess.

[User] “One day, I will call in this favor you owe me."


[User] "In the meantime, you may savor the anticipation of when and how that will be.”

[Assistant] “Heh. It seems I’ve incurred quite a serious debt indeed.” The girl before her was so young and yet so lovely. The Scorching Lady could only swallow at the prospect of one day having to make good on this obligation. She let out a sigh.

[User] “Here, Aldeberan, take this.”

[Assistant] “I told you not to call me that.” The cuffs—purely for formality’s sake—were removed, and he was handed his liuyedao instead. The conversation was practically a ritual by now, but Al was sharing it not with that rare person on the sword-slave island whom he had permitted into his heart, but rather with the sour guard who had replaced the dead man. He still missed the deceased Orlan sometimes. Maybe part of his motivation for taking on the Hornet had been some measure of revenge, trying to make up for what had happened.

[User] “Heh. Yeah, right… The assassination attempt on the emperor failed, we got a whole bunch of new faces on the island, and life here goes on as usual. Not a lot of difference in the grand scheme of things.” Everything changed; nothing lasted. Not Ubirk’s sedition, not the Hornet’s evil, not the sword slaves’ fervent wishes, nor Arakiya’s loyalty, nor Orbart’s cunning. Not even Orlan’s death. Everything would fade in time. The ants could wail and cry, but they couldn’t stop the river’s flow. The rebellion on the island had brought this realization home to Al.


[Assistant] The thought was still in his mind as he stepped into the arena, greeted by the wild shouting of the crowd. As his opponent for today’s death match emerged from the opposite tunnel, Al’s eyes went wide. "Gajeet? So you made it, too, huh? I thought for sure you were dead.”

[User] “Hey, so did I. But I survived and damned if I know how. Karma or something, I guess. Maybe it’s the same thing that means one of us is gonna die here today.” It was the saber wielder with the half-shaved head. Al had heard he was one of the first on board with the rebellion, but he must have done something to gain clemency, because here he was. And here Al was, facing off with him in a fight to the death. Everything changed. Nothing lasted. Nothing in the world. Not the world itself.

[Assistant] “Let’s have at it, then. No hard feelings, eh, Gajeet?”

[User] “Yeah, sure. We’re sword slaves till we die. Even the Hornet eventually bit the dust. So will we one day.”

[Assistant] Al didn’t respond to that. Instead, as Gajeet readied his saber, Al took up a fighting stance, preparing to let his liuyedao have the last word. Everybody died. Everyone was going to die. It was something no one could escape.

[User] “At least for now,” he muttered. The frenzy of the crowd intensified, and a gong announced the start of the match.


[User] Gajeet crouches low and charges in, Al racing to meet him. Gajeet wanted to chop his head off.

[Assistant] Al would just have to chop Gajeet’s head off first. It was how it always went.

[User] "An unlucky star." That was all there was to it.


[User] Survival of the fittest; the strong consume the weak; rich nation, powerful soldiers—such were the ideals that permeated the Empire of Volakia. There was scant place for a man with only his earnestness to recommend him. In short, Jorah was the very epitome of the kind of person who was unsuited to be a member of imperial nobility. Jorah himself was well aware that he was out of step with the empire’s way of life; that was why he had, until now, lived quietly but pleasantly in the shadows, at pains not to make waves. He tackled no major challenges in his life. His job as he saw it was to safeguard the household for the next generation. Ironically, it was precisely this retiring attitude that had prevented him making a good match even until his late age. But this was a miracle that bloomed precisely because he was still alone.

[Assistant] "Are you that amused by simply staring at me?"

[User] Jorah’s eyes widened when the girl called out his lingering gaze. He had been stopped in his tracks by the sight of Priscilla—his wife—by the way she seemed completely absorbed in her reading, forgetting even to take a breath. Confronted by that fact, he let a finger wander to his bangs and fiddle with his hair. "M-my apologies. I was simply so…so taken with the sight of you."

[Assistant] The girl sniffed, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. “Hmph, is that so? Then I suppose you may be forgiven. People are transfixed by masterful paintings or precious gems because they contain a beauty that transcends logic. People find true beauty irresistible. How much more so might I draw the gaze?” An arrogant pronouncement if there ever was one, yet Jorah didn’t have it in him to argue with her—because in fact, she was very beautiful. Throughout the course of their conversation, her crimson eyes never so much as glanced at Jorah. They remained fixed on the book on her lap, the pages of which she turned periodically, relentlessly devouring the story within. When he thought about it, Jorah realized the young woman seemed to be reading a book every time he saw her. That must have been the wellspring of her overflowing knowledge: the piles and piles of books she had read in the course of her life. In other words, reading was something she found essential to storing up knowledge, carrying her to higher and higher places, raising and refining her very existence. In a word, it helped her come closer to her completion. She’d said it was the way of people to be enraptured by beautiful things, even if it seemed irrational. If she was right, then that was surely why Jorah had welcomed her as his wife, why he found he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Most likely, too, it explained why he seemed to be at her beck and call, why he wished to indulge her every whim. It explained everything. And thus…

[User] Priscilla.


[User] "Though it’s been all too brief, the time I’ve spent with you has been perhaps the happiest in my life.”

[Assistant] Priscilla did not respond immediately.

[User] "I am a cowardly man. To this point, I have used up the good fortune I was born with. Carefully, taking it a bit at a time, as if with a teaspoon. However…" Having gotten that far, Jorah became lost for words. Not because he hadn’t thought this far ahead or because his confidence had once again deserted him. Nothing so negative as that. No, the reason was quite simple.

[Assistant] Priscilla was looking not at the book, but at him. Her crimson eyes, as beautiful as rubies, were fixed upon Jorah. Without a word, they urged him to continue, and he swallowed heavily. As ridiculous as it might sound, that was the first time he sensed—truly knew—that the girl before him, Priscilla, had given him words to say. A part to play as a main character in her life despite being a small man, a trivial man. Thus, he was proud of himself for feeling no quiver in his heart. Not even when the shout came from outside his door.

[User] "Count Jorah Pendleton! You’re under arrest on charges of treason!"


[User] Soldiers in golden armor surrounded the mansion of Count Jorah Pendleton.

[Assistant] The troops with their golden armor felt no unity, not a shred of cohesion.

[User] In a unit where people measured each other’s humanity in terms of their chosen weapons, it was impossible to keep the peace.

[Assistant] It was something more obvious, more concrete. Namely: power.

[User] "The troops are in position, General Ralphone."

[Assistant] "Mm, good. Everyone, fall back!" Goz dipped his chin meaningfully.

[User] The troops surrounding the mansion, Goz not least among them, carried themselves soberly.

[Assistant] Goz closed his eyes briefly in a moment of genuine pity, but he swiftly shook his head, sweeping the feeling away.

[User] He straightened up to his full, imposing height and stepped forward from the line of his troops. He sucked in a deep breath and bellowed, "Count Jorah Pendleton! You’re under arrest on charges of treason!"

[Assistant] With that, gold-clad troops broke down the front door.

[User] "And so we strike!"

[Assistant] No sooner had the golden troops entered the home than a furious clash of swords resounded from within.


[User] Evidently, Count Pendleton had readied his household troops, and battle was joined.

[Assistant] "I’ve no intention of giving you much time,” Goz picked up his own favored weapon, which had been waiting at his side. It was a manner of what was called a mace—a long, two-handed shaft with a large, round metal ball on the end. He hefted it easily, though it must have weighed over two hundred pounds; then in one great leap, he jumped over the heads of his soldiers, landing in front of them and lashing out with his weapon, the mace sweeping away the enemies who blocked his path.

[User] "Stand down! We are here on His Excellency’s orders. Any who stand in our way will be considered traitors along with Count Jorah Pendleton!” His voice, loud enough to shake the air, sent fear through the count’s troops.


[Assistant] Footsteps sounded at the top of the stairs connecting the great hall just beyond the entranceway to the second floor, and then a slim figure appeared. "Goodness. I never expected you to come personally, General Ralphone. Well, this is troubling…”

[User] Goz looked up and furrowed his bushy eyebrows. He knew that man—it was none other than the very person he had come for. "Count Pendleton. How good of you to show yourself."

[Assistant] "I know how people see me, but I am still a noble of the Volakian Empire, even if not much of one. I wouldn’t wish people to say that I left my underlings to do all the work while I hid quivering behind them. Although…the part about quivering may be true.” Jorah gave a thin smile.

[User] "You’ve had some change of heart, then? I would be most interested to know what has motivated this."

[Assistant] "With one of the Nine Divine Generals looming over me, I’m apt to tell you anything you want to know. I am…a weak man. I have to be constantly working myself up to face things.” He bit his lip, his voice trembling. One of his soldiers knelt beside him and respectfully held up a sword. Jorah took it and drew it slowly from the scabbard.


[User] "I must warn you that so long as you have a weapon in your hand, I will not hold back."

[Assistant] "Th-that’s fine. The moment I chose this path, I knew it would come to this… I’ve already said my farewells to my wife."

[User] "…Is that so? Then there is no further need for words."

[Assistant] Goz nodded firmly at Jorah, who looked straight at him. Then he made sure he had a firm grip on his mace, and he shouted, both to fire the passions of his own soldiers and to break the will of the enemy: "I am Goz Ralphone, of the Nine Divine Generals of the Empire of Volakia! By His Excellency’s command, I will root out any who would threaten the empire from within!"

[User] "I am Jorah Pendleton, count of the Empire of Volakia, and for my wife’s sake, with this feeble arm, I shall resist you."


[User] Arakiya held a pathetic twig she’d just plucked off the tree, and she fixed her single eye on Priscilla, her lips trembling. “Lady Prisca…,” she said, using Priscilla’s other name.

[Assistant] Priscilla exhaled quietly at the ancient moniker, a name she’d already abandoned. “It’s hard to escape the irony that it should be you appearing before me at this moment.”

[User] “Princess. I—”

[Assistant] “Betrayed me and joined my brother. And it’s brought you this opportunity to finish me off with your own hands. What do you have to say for yourself?”

[User] “N-no, I didn’t! I never…!” Though the young woman normally showed so little emotion, Priscilla’s merciless assault still made her face twist in alarm. “Then just like now… Princess, for you, I…”

[Assistant] Priscilla didn’t speak.

[User] “Today… Today, it’s the same. Master Vincent said to me…”

[Assistant] “Fool. You mistake your form of address. My older brother is now the emperor of Volakia, and if you are a soldier of the empire, then you had best remember it. For—” Priscilla paused and crossed her arms. Then she stared down the other girl with her almond-shaped eyes and let her lips curl provocatively. “No… In truth, my brother has not gained the right to call himself emperor of Volakia.”

[User] “Oh…”

[Assistant] “Prisca Benedict is dead. My brother alone survives of all the candidates who participated in the Rite of Imperial Selection. Except my existence threatens that entire story, doesn’t it?”

[User] “Lady…Prisca…”

[Assistant] “And get my name right while you’re at it. I’m Priscilla now. Priscilla Pendleton—my token of respect for my husband’s last act of service. I must insist you not mistake this, Arakiya.”

[User] “Pri…scilla…?”

[Assistant] “I grant it’s merely a bit of playing with sounds. Wherever and in whatever circumstances I may be, I shall always be myself. As much of a headache as that might be for my elder brother.” Priscilla winked at the girl, the one she called Arakiya, and then sniffed.

[User] Arakiya straightened her small shoulders. “Prisca or Priscilla… The princess is my princess. Come with me.


[User] "Master Vincent…I mean, His Excellency would speak with you. So…”

[Assistant] “I’m afraid I don’t follow. He wants me to return now? To what end? My brother is the emperor, and he cannot abide my continued existence. If, in spite of that, he commands me to return to the capital…”

[User] "Yes? If so…then what?”

[Assistant] “It’s as good as declaring that he intends to seek my life once more.”

[User] “Oh…” Arakiya’s words were almost casual, but they left Arakiya shocked. Arakiya looked at her milk sister and realized it was true that Vincent hadn’t explained the niceties of his orders. But it had been enough for Priscilla to guess what he was thinking. Why had he sent Arakiya to find her at this moment?

[Assistant] “The fact that he sent you to me was, in his own way, an act of love.”

[User] “What…?”

[Assistant] “Yes. Familial affection. My older brother does love me. And I have considerable fondness for him as well. But that is a separate matter from our respective positions. This time, my brother must kill me. And therefore…”

[User] “? !” Priscilla’s voice dropped on that last word, and then Arakiya’s eyes widened, her small body flying backward. The reason was clear: a red flash. A sweep, a beautiful and a cruel strike that, had it connected with Arakiya’s neck, would have seen her burned to cinders on the spot. The source of the blow was a ruby-red blade that was suddenly in Priscilla’s hand.

[Assistant] “The Bright Sword, Volakia…,”

[User] “It must be most inconvenient for my brother that there are two of us who can wield this weapon. I doubt he has any need for such musty symbols of power, but without them, he would never be able to keep the likes of Belstetz in line.”

[Assistant] “Princess, put your sword away, and—”

[User] “Still, you urge surrender upon me? Then you leave me no choice but to carve my own path with this gleam in my hand.” The sword was too large for a girl who had not yet finished growing and too grand. But Priscilla burst with the confidence to use it freely and the competence to actually do so.

[Assistant] “Go, Princess.”

[User] Arakiya lowered the twig she clutched in her hand.

[Assistant] “Hoh?” Priscilla breathes and closes an eye in amusement, taking the wind out of her sails. “Are you not defying the emperor’s personal orders?”

[User] “But Master Vincent…His Excellency bade me come here.”

[Assistant] Arakiya, perceiving what she judged to be the true intent behind Vincent’s orders, made her decision. Perhaps she was right, or perhaps it was simply an interpretation of those orders that was convenient to her personal wishes. Either way, it was a perceptible change in Arakiya, who had always before been loyal to the letter of what she was told. When Priscilla saw that, she returned the Bright Sword to the air, where it disappeared.

[User] “My princess…is the princess. But if Lady Prisca is dead…then this is the last. I beg you.


[User] "Don’t draw attention to yourself anymore. Like with the broadcast…on the sword-slave island…"

[Assistant] "Ah, but that was my own expression of love for my brother. With the resolution of matters on the island, he could keep his defenders at home in the capital."

[User] In any case, ultimately, it had only been a matter of time before Priscilla’s hiding place would have been discovered. She was a woman fundamentally unsuited to lying low somewhere and watching the world pass her by. Even her days with Jorah had been merely a detour—although, unexpectedly, not an unpleasant one. Pleasant enough, at least, that she had lost her resistance to using the name Priscilla Pendleton. "Arakiya, I am grateful to you. But the next time we meet, you had best have your resolve set."

[Assistant] "…I hope we don’t meet. Ever again."

[User] "But we shall. At least, I believe so." With that, Priscilla smiled—and at the same moment, there came a huge explosion from the direction she’d come, the direction of the mansion. The battle seemed to have reached some sort of climax.

[Assistant] Arakiya glanced toward the sound for a bare instant, but her attention swiftly returned to what was in front of her eyes.

[User] "Princess…" …by the time she turned back, Priscilla was already gone. Arakiya looked everywhere, but she knew Priscilla was not so careless as to be found that easily. She was, after all, Arakiya’s own milk sibling, and the Volakian emperor’s only living relative… "…I’m begging you…" Arakiya dearly wished Priscilla would go away, as far away as possible, and live out her life. That she would forget about the brutal war of succession in the empire and go on as just another girl, living in some distant place. But despite her wishes, Arakiya knew the truth. "It’s absolutely…impossible." The young woman, Prisca Benedict, would never endure that way of life. Sometime in the future, another day would come when, like today, Arakiya was brought face-to-face with her princess. When that day came, what, if anything, would she be able to do with Priscilla, or Prisca? Set your resolve. That was what she had been told. And yet… "Lady Prisca… You big dummy…" And yet for the moment, that single murmur was all she could manage.


[User] That, at least, was the testimony of one Arakiya, who would later become one of the Nine Divine Generals of the Volakian Empire.

[Assistant] Thus, there were no fugitives. No one to threaten the swordwolf nation. The peace of the empire was secure. No shadow would fall upon it. It would continue to carry on into the future.