[User] She didn’t slow down despite her husband’s shout, instead making straight for the mansion’s entry hall. When she appeared in the hallway...

[Assistant] "Well, now. That’s one cute young lady who’s found us." The words came from a slim young man Priscilla didn’t recognize; Priscilla arched an eyebrow in response. The young man waved at Priscilla with a friendly smile on his face. "You Count Pendleton’s little girl? Is your daddy home toda—?"

[User] "Bal, ya blathering idiot! Count Pendleton doesn’t have a daughter! Don’t get ahead of yourself!" A smaller man standing beside the chatty newcomer gave him a sound smack on the back of the head.

[Assistant] "Yowch!" the young man yelped, the strike producing an audible whack. "Miles, Brother, what’d ya do that for?! I know my head’s empty, but it’d still be bad news if you cracked it open!"

[User] "Pipe down! If your head’s empty, then go fill it up before you show your face around here again! And don’t go dragging me into your stupid screwups!"

[Assistant] "Screwups?! Just what exactly are you referring to? What do you think I did wrong?"

[User] "Count Pendleton only just married a young wife! So use that empty head of yours and try to think! We come to the manor of Count Pendleton, who doesn’t have a daughter, and a young lady appears…"

[Assistant] "Oh! I get it." Finally connecting the dots, the young man nodded and ran a hand through his auburn hair.

[User] "Took ya long enough," the little man grumbled, shrugging as if he was exhausted. "Two things you always were—slow, and a handful. If I hadn’t been stuck with you since you were a tot, Bal, I swear I’d have cut you loose ages ago…"

[Assistant] "Believe me, Brother, I owe you lots. But haven’t you made a little mistake yourself?"

[User] "Eh? What did I—? Oh!" At this moment in the conversation, the little man noticed the person who had inspired the entire argument and stiffened.

[Assistant] Priscilla—the topic at hand—had been listening to the exchange without a word. As the two visitors turned toward her, she shrugged with her slim shoulders and said, "What’s the matter? Go on. Don’t mind me. Watching two clowns argue is proving quite an amusing spectacle. Go on, go ahead."

[User] "Grrr… Played like a goddamn instrument by a little girl…"

[Assistant] "Careful, Brother, your language is getting worse. How about we start by apologizing?"

[User] "Grrr…" The pair started shaking at Priscilla’s words.

[Assistant] She hadn’t specifically been seeking to ridicule them, but she was disappointed to have to relinquish these entertaining jesters, who seemed likely to jump and squirm at anything she said. "P-Priscilla, these are my guests. Please don’t have too much fun at their expense…" Priscilla said, interrupted in the act of deciding what to say next by Jorah’s arrival.

[User] "Hrmph. Finally caught up, did you?"


[User] "Ah." The count said, raising an eyebrow slightly at the pair facing his wife. "I was told messengers from High Countess Delacroix were here. I didn’t realize that meant you, Miles."

[Assistant] "Count Pendleton! It’s been too long, much too long." Said the small man whose name was Miles, evidently an acquaintance of Priscilla’s husband. He knelt before Jorah, and the young man beside him hurriedly followed suit.

[User] "Who’s this?" Jorah asked, observing the noticeably less experienced of the two messengers. "I don’t recognize him. A newcomer?"

[Assistant] "Yes indeed. A friend of mine from way back. High Countess Delacroix was kind enough to give him a job to do. You see, he has an all too rare ability as a sky-dragon tamer." He nudged the young man. "Introduce yourself!"


[User] “Sure thing, Brother. Introducing myself!” The young man looked at Jorah.

[Assistant] Priscilla observed that her husband was nearly overwhelmed by the directness of his gaze. She smiled to see such forcefulness in a look. The young man might hide it behind his easygoing manner, but he might just be something special.

[User] Completely unaware of Priscilla’s evaluation of him, the young man placed a hand on his chest and said, “A pleasure to meet ya. My name is Balleroy Temeglyph. My big bro Miles here has been taking care of me since I was a kid—and he still does, as you can see.”

[Assistant] “I do. Miles always was good at looking out for others. And this sky-dragon tamer business, you…?”

[User] “Yessir. I have a real spirited one entrusted to my care.” Balleroy’s broad smile seemed to suggest he knew no fear—but with this final remark, the character of his expression changed. Inappropriate though it might have been, the smile became one of self-confidence.

[Assistant] “As I recall, the ability to tame sky dragons is a secret art passed down among certain families. A way of gaining the services of a sky dragon, creatures not otherwise known for being very fond of people.”

[User] “That’s right, miss. You really know your stuff. You may be little, but you must have studied hard— Owowow!”

[Assistant] “You’re the one who needs to study! About how to have some damn manners!” Incensed by how quickly Balleroy let any semblance of propriety fall away, Miles gave the tall man a solid pinch on the behind, his own language taking a step down the politeness scale in the process.

[User] “Please, please. You needn’t let such minor matters upset you so. I should have introduced her sooner. This is Priscilla Pendleton… That is, ahem, my wife.”

[Assistant] Priscilla snorted at the idea that this was the best Jorah could do by way of introduction. "Imagine, a man in his fifties getting tongue-tied introducing his wife. Stand up straight and speak with confidence! You’re the luckiest man in the world. For you are blessed with me for your spouse!"

[User] Jorah could only smile awkwardly, while Balleroy and Miles looked on, their eyes slightly wide.

[Assistant] “Goodness gracious! Ya know, this struck me when we were chatting earlier, but that’s a feisty wife you’ve got there, Count Pendleton.”

[User] “Yes, I’m afraid I’m quite at her mercy…”

[Assistant] “Fool. All the more reason to consider yourself honored, then. And you, you common cur, I won’t be described with such trivial words as feisty.” She paused. “Hmm. No, perhaps the word common doesn’t quite fit you.”

[User] “Er, should I take that as a compliment?” Balleroy said, looking at Jorah questioningly, but the count only smiled fondly but awkwardly; he certainly didn’t have the reins of his new wife.

[Assistant] It was Miles, having been silent for some time, who finally broke the impasse. “Right.


[User] "Ahem, Count Pendleton, we come with a message from our mistress. May we deliver it to you?”

[Assistant] “Oh, of course, sorry to keep you waiting. Word from Serena? What does she say?”

[User] “I think it’s about the sword-slave island.”

[Assistant] “The sword-slave island… Yes, I suppose that did come up,” Jorah said, taking the sealed letter and scanning the contents. He let out a breath. He didn’t seem very happy about the idea of the island.

[User] “The sword-slave island…Ginonhive. You know, I don’t believe I’ve ever been there.”

[Assistant] “Hoh! Interested, missus?”

[User] “Aw, y’know, I’ve always wanted to see the place myself, so this is great news!”

[Assistant] “Hmm. Am I to gather that your mistress intends to invite my no-account husband to the sword-slave island?”

[User] “Mm-hmm, I’d say that’s about the size of it,” Balleroy confirmed.

[Assistant] Miles, though, looked annoyed by the exchange between his “younger brother” and Priscilla.

[User] “Say, Miles, what’s the matter?”

[Assistant] “I’m wondering why we even bothered bringing a letter…” He certainly seemed to have his hands full with this so-called younger brother. But maybe that was just the way it was.

[User] “If you pour in more water than your vessel can handle, of course it’s going to overflow." Priscilla observed. "If you wish for it not to spill, you must constantly sip from it. And even then, it may run over.”

[Assistant] “I’ll remember that.” He seemed quick-witted enough. The fact that he didn’t dismiss Priscilla’s words as the jabbering of a little girl showed well why he had Balleroy’s respect. All that remained was the response to the message.

[User] “I’m very pleased to receive High Countess Delacroix’s invitation.”

[Assistant] “However, I’m afraid things are quite busy here, so I’m going to have to—”

[User] “Just ignore him. We accept the invitation to the sword-slave island.”

[Assistant] “P-Priscilla? !” Jorah had folded the invitation and had been just about to politely turn it down when Priscilla interrupted him. His face betrayed an uncharacteristic intensity of emotion as he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Priscilla, the sword-slave island receives many visitors. What if someone were to recognize you?”

[User] “Is that your reason for refusing the invitation? Then allow me to give you my reason for accepting it.”

[Assistant] “Y-your reason? Whatever could possibly move you to…?”

[User] “It’s quite simple. I am interested in this island.” Jorah looked at her in pure astonishment. This was how Priscilla lived her life; it was almost the equivalent of a wife sweetly begging her husband for a favor. Even if the situation made it a little difficult to call the moment sweet. Regardless… “”

[Assistant] Jorah could hardly speak.

[User] “Count Pendleton, what would you like to do? Our master is in no hurry for a response, so if you’d like to take some time to consider…,”

[Assistant] “No, thank you,” and a shake of his head. Jorah, however, declined this kind offer with a


[User] "There’s no need for you to wait for my answer. Please tell High Countess Delacroix that we…we accept her invitation."

[Assistant] "Aw, that’s great to hear. I’m sure the mistress’ll be glad." Balleroy said, seeming as pleased by the answer as he was oblivious to how hard it had been for Jorah to give it.

[User] Miles was giving Jorah a rather more conflicted look, but he didn’t dare question the man’s judgment. "Very well, sir. You’ll find the details of the date and time in the letter. If you’d like us to carry a response back for you, we’ll gladly do so." He bowed deeply.

[Assistant] "That won’t be necessary. I doubt even your heads are empty enough to forget a one-word answer on the way home. So take it back to your mistress and deliver that."

[User] "Ha-ha-ha! She’s got us there, Brother. Right on the money!"

[Assistant] "Pipe down!" Miles shouted, his voice ringing throughout the whole mansion. In the end, they had let their demeanor as formal messengers slip one last time.


[User] With a great flapping of wings, two sky dragons soared away. Even by dragon standards, sky dragons were particularly temperamental, a tempestuous race that were sometimes reputed to be almost as volatile as demon beasts. Unlike land dragons, which enjoyed human company, or water dragons, which were fearsome but manageable, sky dragons were inherently difficult to interact with. Those who had the knack for it were called sky-dragon tamers, and the secrets of this art had long belonged solely to Volakia, never revealed outside its borders. And it appeared that Balleroy and Miles were both among the vaunted ranks of sky-dragon tamers, of which there were said to be fewer than a hundred in the entire empire.

[Assistant] "You know, I don’t seem to recall ever having ridden a winged dragon myself…"

[User] "Priscilla, d-don’t tell me you wish to ride a sky dragon…"

[Assistant] "Ha. You needn’t fret so much. Even I recognize that it is something not easily done. I know that even refinement as cultivated as mine is lost on beasts that merely obey their natural instincts."

[User] "I see. Yes… Yes, that is reassuring." Jorah put a hand to his chest with relief.

[Assistant] Priscilla turned from watching the messengers go, glancing at her husband instead. As ever, he gave the impression of a timid coward dressed in a grown man’s clothing. However, he had committed to a dangerous decision: to go to the sword-slave island, with Priscilla at his side.

[User] "Hmm? Is something the matter?"

[Assistant] "—Your motivations continue to baffle me. Hmm. Or perhaps that’s precisely the quality that allowed you to fulfill the minimum requirements to be my spouse." Priscilla murmured, contemplating the unfathomable nature of Jorah’s inner life. Had he been consumed with Priscilla’s beauty, seeking to use her only to fulfill his own animalistic desires, he wouldn’t have lasted beyond the first night of their marriage.


[User] "I’m willing to set it aside for now. At the moment, I’m far less interested in my rather unremarkable husband than I am in this sword-slave island."

[Assistant] “U-unremarkable? That hurts…”

[User] “If you do not wish to be hurt, then make yourself something of interest to me. At least as of this moment, you are certainly not more intriguing than an entertainment I’ve never witnessed before.”

[Assistant] Jorah’s shoulders slumped under his wife’s merciless assault. "Just to be clear…you weren’t simply taken by the moment? You really intend to go to Ginonhive?”

[User] “Of course I do. This is Delacroix—ahem, High Countess Delacroix we’re talking about. To accept her invitation and then later renege would be such an affront that she might very well go to war against us. Even I do not wish to lose the house I’ve only just married into. It would be a bitter pill to swallow.”

[Assistant] Her crimson eyes were looking to the sky, over the horizon where the sky dragons had disappeared—her thoughts on the sword-slave island that must be out there. The thought of it brought a swell to her still-flat chest. "It matters not. For the world bends itself to suit me.”


[User] “Ahh!” Al sat bolt upright in bed as a shock of something akin to fear ran through him. He looked quickly this way and that, but there was no one and nothing there.

[Assistant] “Al! Hey, man! What was that all about? You playin’ around?”

[User] “Gah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ain’t it enough for you to be on display up top?” The other sword slaves, enjoying some drinks nearby, were more than happy to give him a hard time about it.

[Assistant] Al glared at his soused companions, running a hand through his black hair.

[User] “Hellooo, Al? Allll! Don’t tell me you’re all upseeet,”

[Assistant] “Spare me your Hornet impressions. It’s like a waking nightmare,” Al spat. Then he slowly got to his feet. His mood was never going to recover if he sat there arguing with drunks. He shuffled off, hoping to find somewhere he could be alone. He had to be careful, though—he wouldn’t want to accidentally stumble across the Hornet or Ubirk.


[User] The thought made him realize that the only person on this island he could really relax around was Orlan, and that thought made him unbearably depressed. Al wandered along until he found himself emerging from the suffocating underground, out in the night breeze.

[Assistant] Directly connected to the underground space dedicated for the use of the sword slaves was a small staging area for the patrols that policed the island’s outer walls. Since the drawbridge was the only way on or off the island, security was somewhat lax about making sure people on the inside stayed indoors. Of course, that led a few morons to try swimming across the massive lake…

[User] "But that’s not much of a plan when the lake is crawling with demon beasts that live in the water. Only thing you get that way is killed." Al said to himself. Thus, despite the laissez-faire approach to security, not a single person had ever yet succeeded in escaping from the sword-slave island. In a place like this, to even dream of freedom was the height of foolishness. The thought reminded Al of Ubirk’s ridiculous chatter from earlier in the day, and he clicked his tongue angrily. It was just babble, and usually, he would have been able to let it roll right off his back, but today, it nagged at him.

[Assistant] "Dreams are for when you’re sleeping, not when you’re awake. Damned idiot." He grumbled. He looked up at the sky to see a half-full moon. It looked awfully large, yet what drew his attention wasn’t the moon itself, but the stars that stippled the night sky around it. Pinpricks of light beyond counting. Al stared at them for a long moment, then bit his lip.

[User] "Bad stars. That’s what’s behind it all." The “celebration” to be held on the island was getting very, very close.


[Assistant] Fierceness personified—that was Priscilla’s first impression of High Countess Serena Delacroix. She was an incredibly tall woman, her slim arms and legs obviously toned. And yet it didn’t look unrefined; she still had a feminine shapeliness, which alleviated any impression that she was simply a woman who had given herself to soldiering. One might even characterize her as a beautiful but wild beast. Waves of rusty-red hair cascaded down her back, and she wore not a dress, but a cloak like a captain of a merchant vessel might have. Some said she didn’t look much like a noble—but only behind her back, because in the Volakian Empire, the powerful and the capable could comport themselves however they wished. Who, then, could possibly criticize any action of Serena Delacroix, who was sometimes even known as the Scorching Lady?

[User] "It’s been too long, Count Pendleton. Have you been well?" Serena said as she smiled—but it was impossible not to notice the old scar that ran down the left side of her otherwise impeccable face.


[User] It was a sword wound, large and white, given to her by her father when she had taken the reins of the family for herself. Her nickname, the Scorching Lady, had come about because at the conclusion of that family power struggle, she supposedly burned her father alive. "Serena! I’m grateful to say I have. And you seem in good health. That’s wonderful."

[Assistant] Jorah’s simpering smile contrasted sharply with Serena’s easy, confident greeting.

[User] Priscilla was used to her “beloved” husband’s meekness by now; it was just how he always was and not a sign that he was intimidated by Serena’s rank.

[Assistant] Still, confronted with a fifty-something-year-old man and his twelve-year-old spouse, even Serena couldn’t help being a bit surprised. "You must be the new wife I’ve heard so much about." She said, allowing her gaze to settle on Priscilla. "I’d been told you were quite young, and I wondered if maybe that was why he’d been single for so long…"

[User] While her husband doubled over, Priscilla stood beside him looking entirely in her element.

[Assistant] "But I’m reminded that rumors can’t always be trusted. I see Miles and Balleroy gave me an accurate report."


[User] "Hoh, they reported on me, did they? And what fine phrases did they use to flatter me?"

[Assistant] "They said you possess a gravitas beyond your years, as I recall. And if I recall correctly, you were ‘sassy,’ and they wished they could ‘teach you some manners.’"

[User] "Hoh…" Priscilla had taken the liberty of speaking to Serena without so much as properly introducing herself, but the high countess seemed willing to shrug it off.

[Assistant] Priscilla narrowed her crimson eyes and looked at the two men standing behind Serena—Balleroy and Miles, the high countess’s sometime messengers.

[User] Miles ducked away from her glare

[Assistant] Balleroy grinned stupidly and waved at her.

[User] "I suppose it goes without saying which of them is the senior."

[Assistant] "I wouldn’t be so sure. Miles may not look like much, but he’s very perceptive. Both of them are important pawns to me. I’m sorry to say you can’t have them, even if you have taken a liking to them."

[User] "Nor do I need them. The only ones who may stand by myself are those who excel me in beauty, or at least some clown entertaining enough not to bore me. Frankly, even my husband doesn’t meet either of those standards."

[Assistant] "Wha?! Wh-what do I have to do with any of this?" Jorah exclaimed, his voice even thinner than usual.

[User] "Oh, stop sniveling." Priscilla sniffed, linking her thin arm with his. At the moment, Priscilla and Jorah had left the mansion where they had grown accustomed to living as husband and wife in order to accept the invitation of High Countess Serena Delacroix. It brought them far into the western reaches of the empire. Namely, to the sword-slave island of Ginonhive, where there was to be a great celebration marking the accession of the new emperor.


[Assistant] "Strictly speaking, there’s no necessary connection between the Rite of Imperial Selection and the sword-slave island."

[User] "It’s simply a convenient excuse for them to draw a large crowd."

[Assistant] "Sharp tongue you have, young mistress. You don’t like these sorts of shows?"

[User] "Hmm? They’re fine. I’m simply saying it has no specific relevance as a demonstration of loyalty to the emperor. But I’m not so narrow-minded that I would censure the common people for losing themselves in such entertainments. Besides…"

[Assistant] "Yes?"

[User] "…watching others fight for their lives, and evaluating their performance, is something I particularly enjoy." Priscilla produced a folding fan from her dress, using it to cover her mouth as she spoke.

[Assistant] Serena’s eyes widened slightly. "Ha," she laughed. "I like her! A fine catch you’ve made, Count Pendleton! I think I could really talk with this young lady. It’s only a shame she’s too young to share a drink of wine."

[User] "Please, you’ll make my head hurt… And, Priscilla, you mustn’t speak so frivolously…"

[Assistant] "Fool. Of course I’m acquainted with the taste of wine."


[User] "Who do you take me for?” Jorah almost choked. “Priscilla? !”

[Assistant] But Serena only looked more and more amused. The high countess smiled, distorting the white scar on her face. “Oops. As much fun as this conversation could prove to be, I think we had best get moving while we enjoy it.”

[User] “It will be a pleasure, I’m sure,” Priscilla said. “Now, as I recall, Ginonhive is accessible by a drawbridge, yes? I suppose it will be quite crowded in light of the festivities.”

[Assistant] “Don’t worry. As your host, I’ll certainly see to it that you don’t get bored,” Serena said.

[User] Jorah cocked his head in confusion

[Assistant] Serena snapped her fingers, and at the signal, Miles and Balleroy jumped into action. Each of them put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly, summoning…

[User] “My goodness!”

[Assistant] “Ah, sky dragons.” Jorah stared in amazement; Priscilla merely fixed her eyes upon the shapes that came floating down out of the heavens. Two sky dragons, flaring their wings and kicking up a gale as they landed. If they had merely been a couple of sky dragons, they would have been no different from what Priscilla and Jorah had seen Miles and Balleroy ride off on recently. What warranted surprise was that these pulled a ship behind them. The so-called sky-dragon ships, secured to the creatures by chains, were an unusual sight even in the Empire of Volakia, where sky-dragon tamers existed.

[User] “I doubt even you have much experience with something like this. I know it’s a little late, but please consider this my wedding present to you,” Serena said, grinning proudly as the ship floated in the air behind her.

[Assistant] Priscilla smirked "Very good. Well chosen. I think I like you, High Countess Delacroix.”

[User] “—” For a second, Serena didn’t say anything to the fearless Priscilla but only scratched her cheek in some embarrassment. Then she could be heard to mutter, “Yes, Count Pendleton… A very fine catch indeed.”


[Assistant] “Did you hear, Al? They say a sky-dragon ship is here! A sky-dragon ship!” Ubirk exclaimed, distinctly excited, just as Al was placing a hand on the wall and trying to stretch the ligaments in his leg. Another day’s work, another day risking his life—that was how it was for the sword slave Al here in this awful place. The entire country might be celebrating the coronation of a new emperor, but Al still had his job to do.

[User] “In fact, that celebration means the spectacle’s gonna be bigger than ever around here,” Al muttered.

[Assistant] “I can’t believe I missed the sky-dragon ship!” Ubirk said. “You’re lucky to see one of those once in a lifetime! I must be the unluckiest person in the whole world! Al! Are you listening, Al?”

[User] “Shut up already! Can’t you see I’m tryin’ to stretch?


[User] Al was busy making circles with his hips as Ubirk flitted around him.

[Assistant] He felt bad for Ubirk, he really did, but in Al’s opinion, Ubirk was at least lucky enough avoid ending up in death match after death match. Al was constantly in danger and fighting for his life, put on display until his luck finally ran out. That was how a sword slave lived and, ultimately, how he died. Ubirk might have wound up on this island, but he hadn’t been sucked into that murderous system, and that seemed good fortune enough to Al.

[User] The ingratiating smile disappeared from Ubirk’s face, and he said quietly, “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m forever getting either tortured or ignored. From where I’m standing, I don’t think I’m luckier than you at all, Al.”

[Assistant] Al likewise dropped his voice. “A male prostitute, acting like he’s the same as one of us sword slaves! Hell!”

[User] It was the kind of brutal remark that could have kept two people from ever speaking on civil terms again, but Ubirk only grinned. “You’re ruthless.” He said, scratching his head. “I guess as long as I don’t know how to use a sword, I’ll never be able to be your friend, huh, Al? Guess we’ll be just acquaintances our whole lives.”

[Assistant] “Don’t assume you’ll never swing a sword in your lifetime. You might get by on being all cute and personable right now, but you never know if it’ll last. Think about where you’ll be ten, twenty years down the road.”

[User] “What about you, Al? You plan to be here another ten years? There’s perseverance, and then there’s playing real hardball.”

[Assistant] It rankled to hear it, but Ubirk was right. The idea of surviving ten or twenty years on this island was outright ridiculous. Al was likely to fall long before he reached those milestones. Maybe next year, maybe next week. Or maybe his time would come today.

[User] “So why not, Al? Before you end up like…”

[Assistant] Al didn’t answer.

[User] “If the best you can do is sit here and wait to die, why not take up arms against your destiny? If you joined us, Al, you would be worth a hundred men!” Ubirk must have noticed something in Al’s narrowed obsidian eyes, because he spoke with fresh fervor. He was rambling about his baseless, senseless revolution again. Don’t just stand there! Arm yourself! Fight oppression! It probably felt good to him, whipping people into a frenzy with that kind of talk. But as for Al…

[Assistant] “Thanks but no thanks, kid. I’ve got nothing to do here but fight like hell and survive.”

[User] “Al…” Unusually—indeed, perhaps for the first time—Ubirk began really, truly arguing with him. “Okay, but then why do you fight? If you win, that means someone else loses—and dies doing it. I don’t think that makes any sense!”

[Assistant] Al’s voice was cold. “It makes perfect sense. I just ain’t got any reason to die.”


[User] Ubirk looked like he wanted to say more, but they could see someone coming from the direction of the lobby to collect Al for the fight. It was Al’s guard, Orlan. If he was here, that meant it was time.

[Assistant] “I’ll be back. Or maybe I won’t. Just in case, you go ahead and eat. Don’t wait for me.”

[User] “You’ll be back, Al. I know it.”

[Assistant] “You sound like the perfect heroine. ’Course, if a girl said anything like that to me, I wouldn’t know what to do…” Al was careful to act nonchalant, lest he wind up on the Ubirk dating-sim route. Orlan chaperoned Al to the arena, Ubirk and the various sword slaves he knew watching him go. He wore the handcuffs on the way—he had to—but as soon as his beloved sword was in his hand.

[User] “Stay alive out there, Aldeberan. Like you always do.”

[Assistant] “You know the one problem with you? Your memory sucks,” Al said, smiling grimly as he stepped out into the arena. He’d told Orlan not to call him that. The moment he entered the arena, he was showered with shouts and cheers from the spectators enjoying their dark little hobby. Al gave a deeply sardonic bow, but he wasn’t above playing to the audience. He would never be their friend, but having them on his side couldn’t be a bad thing. Just one of the survival strategies Al had learned during his ten years as a sword slave. “Gotta say, this place is pretty lively today… Might be just another death match, but maybe there’s something to this new-emperor stuff after all.” The entertainment offered by the sword slaves on Ginonhive was exactly the same as it always was, but it was clear the audience was significantly larger than usual. All the more reason to stir them up, get them to give him whatever help they could in his bid to survive. “Ladies and gentlemen in the house seats, all our dear guests in the VIP rooms, and everyone watching from the roof, please make sure you’ve got your biggest handkerchiefs ready…yeah?” Al smirked, then calmly brought his liuyedao sword into a fighting stance. From the tunnel directly across from him, his opponent emerged—a large, bald man clasping a broadsword in each hand. His body was covered in visible sword scars, showing that he, too, was an experienced sword slave. You never knew who you were going to fight until the day came. Honestly, Al had always wondered when he would be pitted against the Empress of the sword slaves, the Hornet. He was just as glad that death sentence hadn’t been handed down today.

[User] “Eh, neither of us is lucky. Nobody’s fault. Blame the fuckin’ stars.” 9 The bald head went flying through the air, a spray of blood arcing behind it.


[User] The watching crowd gave its greatest shout of the day, applauding the battle—no, mocking the loser and, for that matter, the winner as well, even as they cheered for him.

[Assistant] "Gosh, that’s quite something. I’d heard they put on death matches here, but I didn’t know they were real, all-out killing. Wonder why."

[User] "It shows off the worst in people. I don’t understand the people who like watching this stuff." Serena’s subordinates, Balleroy and Miles, shared a moment of appreciation—or perhaps lack thereof—for the spectacle they were witnessing.

[Assistant] "What about you, Priscilla? Are you enjoying yourself?"

[User] "I see your dear husband is white as a sheet."

[Assistant] "It’s not bad. The idea of those who have nothing risking all in the fight is an intriguing one."

[User] "Although, the way that clumsy brute fought just now was not particularly amusing."

[Assistant] "Clumsy? Ah, you mean the one-armed man." Serena brushed the scar on her face and flashed a smile that reeked of blood.

[User] "I didn’t even detect any attachment to his own life. What in the world is he fighting for?" Priscilla crossed her arms as she rendered her verdict on the ugly man with his ugly style.

[Assistant] "Uncouth."

[User] Jorah gave a nauseous gurgle.

[Assistant] Priscilla glanced over to see the pale-faced count looking studiously away from the arena, his neck and forehead drenched with sweat.


[User] "You are a man most unfit for the Volakian nobility."

[Assistant] "I… I’m sorry… Even I thought I would be able to endure a little more than this, but— Hrk!"

[User] "Your timing is perfect. I was just thinking I’d like to get some air. Come with me." Priscilla said, and then she took her blanching husband by the arm and got to her feet.

[Assistant] "Use the outer passageway. Balleroy, stay with them."

[User] "What? Why me? I have so much to learn from these death matches— Ouch!"

[Assistant] "Don’t talk back to the high countess! Get out of here, before you embarrass me any worse! And mind your manners around Count Pendleton and his wife!"

[User] "Yessir." Balleroy replied, resigning himself to the task. Then he followed Priscilla and Jorah away from their seats, carrying a long object wrapped in a cloth.


[Assistant] "Sigh… Thank you for your consideration, Priscilla. I’m sorry again. And young Balleroy, I apologize for obliging you to accompany us. You seemed to be enjoying the fights very much."

[User] "Aw, don’t mention it. No worries at all. I wouldn’t say I was enjoyin’ the fights, not really. Just learnin’ a lot."

[Assistant] "Is that so?"

[User] "Sure. Anyway, sure not enough reason to stick around there if it would only upset you, Count Pendleton."

[Assistant] Priscilla spared a glance at her husband, who was as reluctant as ever to exercise the privileges of his nobility, then stared out at the lake.


[User] "In fact, it might be the only thing that gets my blood rushing."

[Assistant] "Say, Ms. Wife, you’ve got a lot of guts for someone so young."

[User] "Even my brother Miles was wincing a little, but you didn’t so much as blink even when that head came flying off." Balleroy glanced over at Priscilla where she stood at the railing looking down at the lake. He leaned against the railing and kicked his legs in the air—hardly the behavior of a servant.

[Assistant] "What are you trying to say? That I would be cuter or more lovable if I squealed and shrieked like a common village girl and wailed each time a loser died?"

[User] "Naw, naw, nothin’ like that. Hey, anyone who came out to this island just to burst into tears every time someone kicked the bucket, I think they’d be in real trouble. Besides…"

[Assistant] "Yes?"

[User] "…I’ve got a thing for strong women. Like High Countess Delacroix."

[Assistant] "That’s odd." She said, arching a shapely eyebrow.

[User] "What’s odd?" Balleroy asked with a wink.

[Assistant] Priscilla spoke again, she sounded less like she was answering him and more like she was continuing to talk to herself.


[User] “When did they raise the drawbridge?” Al calmly accepted his circumstances even as he heard the shouting bouncing off the walls of the passageway behind him, guessing he was a little too optimistic about things.

[Assistant] Until a moment ago, literally minutes before, he’d been in a fight for his life. The big man with the two broadswords had been a pretty good fighter; for the first time in a long while, Al had needed a double-digit number of attempts before he was able to wrest victory from his opponent. Securing his survival had worn him down dramatically, and although it would be wrong to say he was triumphant, the tension certainly drained from his shoulders as he returned to the living quarters—only to find himself asking… “Is this your idea of a joke, Ubirk?”

[User] “Joke? You should know I’ve never made a joke once in my life, Al. Haven’t I been saying? Didn’t I tell you this place needed a revolution?” The pretty boy grinned at him, showing that he was still the same old Ubirk. Except that at his feet lay the guard Orlan in a spreading pool of gore, his lifeblood having spilled out from a deep gash on his neck. It was obvious at a glance what had happened: Ubirk had killed Orlan. A sword slave had killed a guard.

[Assistant] “Killing a guard is the ultimate taboo. This won’t get chalked up as some passing problem. We’ve got a disaster on our hands.”

[User] “Yes, if you look only at what’s happening here, you’re right. I’m not just a sword slave; now I’m a criminal facing serious consequences. If things don’t go my way, I might even be forced to fight a death match as punishment…pitted against the Hornet or something. Ha-ha. Guess I’m as good as dead.”

[Assistant] “And you’re laughing about it? !” Al exploded with indignation at Ubirk’s failure to understand his situation. He stood with his liuyedao at the ready, facing down Ubirk, who held only a crude dagger dripping with Orlan’s blood. He must have been hiding it on his person. It was dwarfed by Al’s thick blade. If it came to a fight, it was obvious it would be no contest. They both knew…

[User] “You can’t beat me, kid. Even you ought to be smart enough to see that.”

[Assistant] “Yes, I know. I know all too well. I’m not under any illusions that I can fight you, Al. After all, even this man here— I had to really get his guard down first, if you know what I mean.” Even as he spoke, Ubirk tossed the dagger on the ground and raised his bloodstained hands. He appeared to be surrendering, but Al frowned, still not sure what he was really up to.

[User] “Al, no matter how many times you turn me down, I’ll keep asking: Won’t you help us? With your strength on our side, I’m sure the revolution would succeed.”

[Assistant] “It won’t.


[User] "We can’t just sit here on this waterlogged rock and dream stupid dreams. The fact is, nobody gives a shit what the likes of you and me have to say.”

[Assistant] “No, that’s not true! If you were with us, Al—”

[User] “Don’t you ever shut up?” Ubirk was clearly out of ideas, but he refused to stop trying to bring Al into his fold.

[Assistant] Al was hell-bent on getting him to be quiet. Sorry, Ubirk, but a revolution is a dream. It’s beyond a dream. Al had no intention of joining Ubirk on his sinking ship just because of a little blathering. Instead, he took a step forward, swinging his liuyedao at Ubirk with all his strength. "I don’t wanna kill ya."

[User] “I’m just gonna chop off an arm, and then when you and I have that in common, I’ll find the other guards and—”

[Assistant] “Throw me to them? I’m afraid I’d really rather not.” Ubirk’s expression drooped; he looked at Al with genuine sympathy. “It’s such a shame, Al, it really is.”

[User] Al tried to bring the blade directly across at him, as if to slice the look off his face, but then he stopped. Well, really, his blade stopped. Technically speaking, his blade was stopped. “Wha—?” His diagonal stroke was interrupted when his weapon bounced off a massive sword. He could have given himself a pat on the back for managing to hold on to the hilt, but the sight that greeted his eyes left him no chance for such self-congratulation. “What the hell is this? Another one of your awful little jokes?” Al swallowed hard, his hand buzzing as he tried to adjust his grip on his sword. A tall figure had moved to protect Ubirk—a terrible, overwhelming figure. The most beautiful and vicious of all the sword slaves on the island with her cruel weapons…

[Assistant] “Hornet? !”

[User] “Oh my goodness, what a scary look. You’re supposed to be my sweet little Al. How can you be so cold?” The Hornet laughed cheerfully. The black-haired woman looked down at Al; with her long legs, she stood so tall that he practically had to crane his neck look up at her. Her weapons, those gigantic blades, were already secured to the stumps of her arms; she was truly the definition of a human weapon. The Hornet was the famed Empress of the sword slaves, a woman whose wiles and fighting spirit had enraptured many, even though she was enslaved on this island. If she was protecting Ubirk, the implications were staggering.

[Assistant] “So you’re on his side? You’re on board with Ubirk’s little rebellion? You’re just full of surprises.”

[User] “Oh gosh, you think so? Did you think I was one of those boring, conservative ladies? That makes me so saaaad.”

[Assistant] “I know better than to call you boring if I want to keep living. But it’s a good point. I’m still surprised.


[User] "It seemed like you had everything you could want on this island."

[Assistant] "Every other sword slave respected her, and even the guards had bowed to her—the Hornet practically ruled Ginonhive."

[User] "She loved to fight, and she was undefeated in the arena."

[Assistant] "She was all but a monarch here."

[User] "Life on this island had been good to her, and she seemed more suited to it than anyone."

[Assistant] "So what was she doing supporting Ubirk’s ridiculous fantasy of a revolution?"

[User] "You wanna talk about conservatives, I’m practically the poster boy."

[Assistant] "Why would you throw away a stable livelihood for some wannabe revolutionary? Have you actually lost your mind?"

[User] "Oh, come now. That’s just rude."

[Assistant] "But that’s one of the things I find charming about you, my sweet little Al."

[User] "And you’re being so mean… You’ve finally done what I always wanted you to."


[User] “What could you want from me?” Al winked at the Hornet, even as he felt the battle lust rising, like a burning point between his eyebrows. He couldn’t imagine what she might have been expecting of him.

[Assistant] “Ha-ha-ha!” The Hornet chuckled. “What I wanted most wasn’t for you to join us, Al. I think it’s much more interesting to have you as an enemy.”

[User] “!” An instant later, two massive blades that couldn’t have weighed less than two hundred pounds each came slicing through the air at him. The Hornet was a force to be reckoned with; Al couldn’t have lifted one of those swords even if his life depended on it, yet she wielded them both as easily as if she was swinging a couple of twigs. The passageway was something less than spacious; there was hardly anywhere to dodge her attacks. Al crouched down to avoid the first stroke, then leaped backward.

[Assistant] “Ohhh, we can’t have that,” the Hornet said, following him and delivering a brutal thrust to his chest. It flung him farther back, his heart and stomach and other internal organs veritably rearranged by the blow. The second blade bit into his body, battering him from side to side before he could catch his breath, cutting him cleanly—or rather, gorily—in two. Death was hard to avoid, and it was coming for Al…

[User] “Ohhh, we can’t have that,” the Hornet said, stepping forward and thrusting with one giant blade. Al dodged it by the skin of his teeth.

[Assistant] “Oh,” the Hornet said, surprised; Al tried to use his liuyedao to hit back, striking out on pure instinct since his opponent was behind him now that he had spun away from her strike. The Hornet ducked his counter with astonishing speed for someone so tall, allowing Al’s attack to pass over her head. The next instant, he took a kick from below, his feet leaving the ground. He could no longer avoid what was coming; the massive blade slammed down from above, cleaving him in two…

[User] “Ohhh, we can’t have that,” the Hornet said, stepping forward and thrusting with one giant blade. Al met it with his liuyedao at an angle, forcibly blocking its path.

[Assistant] “Oh,” the Hornet said, surprised; Al was already shouting, lashing out at his opponent’s weighted leg with a sweeping cut. The Hornet leaped gracefully over his move. But having his opponent in the air was the perfect chance for Al—he instantly turned and started running down the hallway.

[User] “Yaaaahhh!” This was the first time he’d ever fought the Hornet, but they didn’t call her the Empress of the sword slaves for nothing. Al knew all too well that in a hundred rounds with her, he would die a hundred times. As much as it pained him, he knew he had to escape the battlefield entirely.


[User] "If I can get out into the arena…get the audience on my side…"

[Assistant] "Al! Please don’t make me give up faith in you! Just think about it for a minute—you know this is right!" Ubirk called to Al’s retreating back.

[User] "The moment I got our friend the Hornet on my side, I knew I had everyone I needed. I just really, really hoped you would join us…"


[Assistant] "A sword-slave rebellion, eh?"

[User] "What?" Jorah gasped.


[User] An enraged voice shouts, "Where is High Countess Serena Delacroix? !" A group of obviously brutal men were working their way through the seats, acting very much in charge.

[Assistant] She doubts they were that short-tempered, but they were more short-tempered than she had imagined.

[User] "Stop hiding and come out here! Otherwise, we’ll kill everyone in this damn stadium!"

[Assistant] Priscilla smiled, thinking about how this would go.

[User] "Priscilla, g-get behind me." Jorah said, mustering what little fortitude he possessed when he stepped in front of the young girl.

[Assistant] Balleroy, despite the clear and present threat to his mistress, had time for an impressed “Huh!”

[User] "I myself am the woman you seek—Serena Delacroix." Priscilla announced, causing her companions to look at her with considerable shock.

[Assistant] "Hngh? !" Jorah choked.

[User] "Well, now!" Balleroy observed.

[Assistant] Priscilla’s voice echoed through the tense arena, naturally drawing the attention of both the ruffians and the captive spectators—among them, the real Serena Delacroix. Her eyes widened slightly, but she seemed to grasp Priscilla’s intention.

[User] "She still doesn’t approach my abilities, of course." Priscilla muttered to herself.

[Assistant] "You, kid? You’re High Countess Delacroix?" a man in a black outfit asked, sidling up to her. His hair was done in a strange fashion, long on the right side of his head and totally shaved on the left. At his hip, he carried a sword with a curved blade, and it was obvious that he knew what to do with it.

[User] The man looked Priscilla up and down, unmistakably skeptical. "What I heard was that High Countess Delacroix was a real piece of work of a woman, so bad they call her the Scorching Lady. Little girl like you, you look like you could barely warm a cold room, let alone scorch anybo—"

[Assistant] "That nickname was most likely invented by commoners who witnessed my fiery-red hair. In any case, I care not what the chattering masses call me. You may observe me with your own eyes."

[User] The man didn’t respond. "What do you think? Do I look like some young fool playing at being a high countess?"


[User] “Or like someone who needs the validation of some common nickname when I am already a member of the nobility of the Volakian Empire?” Priscilla held her head high and looked him square in the eye as she spoke, though the man loomed over her.

[Assistant] The man stiffened. “I’m sorry, High Countess. You’re going to have to come with us. Our leader wants to meet you.” The man was trying to be polite—at least, as best as a commoner like him could manage. He glanced at his companions and prepared to lead her off.

[User] “H-hold, you! If you’re going to take her, then take me as well!”

[Assistant] The man in black looked like he was noticing Jorah for the first time. “Didn’t hear anything about you being here with your dad…”

[User] “I am not her father. I am her husband!”

[Assistant] “Her husband?” The man looked more skeptical than ever, glancing back and forth between Priscilla and Jorah.

[User] “It is true—that man there is my husband. He cannot be my father, for my father was burned to death before my very eyes. More than reason enough to call me the Scorching Lady, I should think, quite apart from my hair.”

[Assistant] “Point taken. But if that story’s true, then your husband—”

[User] “Bring him. Otherwise, he’ll simply shout and struggle and make life difficult for you. He’ll be much more pliant if he’s with me. And if you strike him down now— Well, you wouldn’t want me coming after you later, would you?”


[User] Piercing the uneasy silence that had fallen over the arena when Priscilla had drawn the men’s attention.

[Assistant] "Hey! Is that the Hornet?" Looks down into the coliseum and exclaims.

[User] "Though with a skill difference like that, it’s more like an execution."

[Assistant] Grunts and goes flying with a spray of blood. His body struck the ground and rolled along, winding up by a ditch at one edge of the stadium that was used for disposing of blood and bodies after a fight.

[User] The Hornet strode up to him and kicked him with her long legs, sending him, still alive, down into the pit.

[Assistant] Man with the curved saber: "Guess he turned down the Hornet’s invitation. What an idiot." The man with the curved saber sighed as he witnessed the spectacle of the woman’s overwhelming strength.

[User] "To assert one’s will requires a certain degree of power. From that perspective, perhaps it was only natural that man should have died. You there, did you come here just to stand around looking stupid?"

[Assistant] "Awfully chatty, aren’t ya, High Countess? Think we won’t lay a hand on you? That why your mouth’s so big?"

[User] "Do you truly believe that, you cur?"

[Assistant] “…Ahem…”

[User] "Am I understanding it correctly that you think my high-and-mighty attitude springs from the conviction that you won’t lay a hand on me?"

[Assistant] The man saw something in Priscilla’s gaze that caused him to swallow whatever he had been about to say. He jerked his chin at his companions, and they led her and Jorah away.

[User] "What about me, Ms. Wife?" Asks, making to follow them.

[Assistant] "Surely, you don’t expect me to claim that you’re my husband, too. There would be no job for you to do even if you did follow us." Stops him with a word.


[User] “That’s easy for you to say, Ms. Wife, but I’ve got my pride to— Hngh? !” Balleroy was just taking the wrapping off his spear.

[Assistant] Miles struck Balleroy in the back of the head with a bottle. "Cram it, dumbass!” Miles gave him a kick. “They’re going to start thinking we’re all morons like you! And what good will that do us, huh? !”

[User] “Who’re you?”

[Assistant] “Nobody, nobody. I’m not interested in fighting with you,” Miles said, tossing the bottle aside and showing every sign of compliance. “You said you’ve got the high countess? Fine, take the girl and her husband and get going. We’re not here to cause any trouble.”

[User] Serena's lips moved, silently saying, _Sorry. And thanks._


[Assistant] Jorah whispered. “Pri—ahem, Serena, what are you planning?”

[User] “So you’re at least smart enough to realize I had a plan. If I hadn’t identified myself as I did, we would likely have spent this entire rebellion without ever seeing the face of their leader. And that would be no fun.”

[Assistant] “N-no fun?” Jorah was all but struck dumb.

[User] “And that is the last thing I want.”

[Assistant] Jorah met this with a tense silence.

[User] “Relax. It doesn’t matter what position we find ourselves in—for this world bends itself to suit me.”

[Assistant] Jorah's only response to his wife’s rather bold philosophy was to stare in wonderment, although his shoulders slumped a little.

[User] “We’re here.”


[User] After a few minutes of walking, they had arrived at a room with a remarkably heavy door, through which they were now led. Priscilla, who had been making a mental map of the island as they went, estimated that this room must be at the highest point on the sword slaves’ island—in other words, it probably belonged to whoever ran the place. That would explain the lavish furnishings and expensive carpet, which otherwise would have seemed out of place on an island of captive gladiators. It might also explain the blood on the carpet, and the corpse of a portly man who lay there like a gutted pig.

[Assistant] "I-is that…?"

[User] "The master of the island, I presume… The one formerly in charge of entertainments here. The slaves he was putting on display rose up in revolt. It shouldn’t take more than half a brain to figure out who they would slaughter first." The man had brought it on himself by failing to sufficiently gauge the danger despite the hatred he had earned. Then again, perhaps the sword slaves had proven even smarter than the man’s sense of danger… Priscilla’s thoughts were interrupted by a man who came trotting up with an ingratiating grin on his face, stepping over the corpse of the former master of the island.

[Assistant] "Well! A pleasure to finally lay eyes on you, High Countess. I’m sorry to greet you like…well, like this. I would have liked to meet you in a cleaner room." The overall impression he gave was one of slimness; he was something of a pretty boy. Unlike the unmistakably rough and ready ruffians, this young man didn’t look like he belonged on the sword-slave island—but Priscilla knew at a glance that he must be the leader of the rebellion.

[User] "It’s you, isn’t it? The host of this banquet."

[Assistant] "Banquet? Ooh, I like that word. I love lively get-togethers—that’s why I didn’t hate life on this island, you know. Even if some parts of it were difficult to endure." The pretty boy smiled but cast a contemptuous glance down at the corpse on the floor. It was enough to tell Priscilla how he had survived on the island: not by wielding a weapon, but by wielding his body. Of course the master of the island had died. That was a foregone conclusion. "And what is it you lot want, then? You decided to kidnap me—ahem, the high countess. I assume you saw that leading somewhere."

[User] "Ah, they don’t call you the victor of a hundred battles for nothing… Although I must say, you seem a little young to have been in so many fights. Oh well, it makes things easy. High Countess Serena Delacroix, the famed Scorching Lady… You are one of the most prominent nobles in the empire."

[Assistant] "One of? Don’t be a fool. There is no replacement for me.


[User] "To even compare me with those other villains is a mark of disrespect.”

[Assistant] “Sere—!” Jorah almost choked on the name, but he managed to shake his head vigorously.

[User] Priscilla furrowed her brow at him but only leaned into her performance as Serena. "And you hope to negotiate with the empire for something. What?”

[Assistant] “It’s very simple. The sword-slave island is to be given independence, and all the slaves are to be freed. I want to get out of this puddle, High Countess Delacroix.” The pretty boy chuckled darkly, even as his proclamation made the entire empire his enemy.


[Assistant] “Still, it’d only make more headaches to abandon Delacroix.”

[User] “Then His Majesty lied…?”

[Assistant] “Don’t say that, kiddo! Not if you value your life. It wasn’t a lie. It was just…expedient. That’s a better way to put it. A way to clean things up with no mistakes. That’s the truth of it,” said an old white-haired man who was scratching his neck and not bothering to hide his annoyance.


[User] Securing a place among the Nine Generals could only be done by demonstrating supreme martial prowess. Yet this white-haired old man—Orbart Dankelken—was one of them. Orbart smiled at her from under his ample eyebrows. “Your name. Remind me, it was…”

[Assistant] Speaking with him was a young woman with brown skin, much of it exposed, and an eye patch over one eye. "Arakiya. I believe I have told you several times.”

[User] “Ah, yes, of course. Arakiya, that’s right, Arakiya. This time, I’m going to remember!” Orbart snapped his fingers and gave a wheezing laugh that made him sound rather ill.

[Assistant] Arakiya merely sighed at him and gazed with heavy-lidded eyes across at the distant island.


[User] At the moment, Orbart and Arakiya were stationed with the handful of imperial troops dispatched to the Ginonhive region, taking stock of the island. “Quickest thing would be to pile on in there, but the drawbridge would have to be down for that.”

[Assistant] “Can we not use boats?”

[User] “Boats, boats! Yeah, we thought about it, but—you know. That lake is swimming with aquatic demon beasts. They were released into the water to keep the sword slaves from escaping way back when, but now they own the place. So with no drawbridge, we can’t get in, and the rebels can’t get out. Tough nut, no?” Orbart laughed his wheezing laugh again.

[Assistant] Arakiya turned her attention to the lake and found that in the dark night waters, she could see shapes drifting, floating, and swimming like fish. Except they weren’t fish. They were aquatic demon beasts. Many land-bound creatures found it difficult to fight underwater, so it wasn’t uncommon for many to consider these beasts even more dangerous than some of their land-dwelling counterparts. It wasn’t surprising that Orbart might laugh off the idea of boats as impractical. And so…“I will go.”

[User] “Hey now, this is more than just a little swim we’re talking about. You’d be down a monster’s gullet before you got anywhere near that island, eh? I’m old and haven’t much time left, but to watch a young girl with her whole future ahead of her throw her life away—it’s too much!”

[Assistant] “It’s…all right. I will simply become the water.”

[User] “Hoh!” Orbart’s eyebrows shifted in what was definitely surprise.

[Assistant] As he watched, Arakiya stripped off her already minimal clothing until she was completely naked. Then she crouched by the water, extended a hand to the lake surface, and went “Nom!” She scooped up a water spirit, a little lesser spirit, and popped it into her mouth. As a spirit eater, Arakiya could ingest the spirits in the atmosphere around her and make their power her own. She could only use that power until the spirit was fully consumed, but because spirits were everywhere if you looked, she never lacked for fuel. This was the ability that enabled her to ingest the water spirit, making its qualities her own.


[User] She glanced toward Orbart and said, “The drawbridge—it just needs to come down, right?”

[Assistant] “Yes, that’d do it. Anyway, if I went back to His Majesty and said that a little girl like you had given her all while my old bones had sat and done nothing, he’d kill me on the spot. Go about your task, my dear!” He gave her a perfunctory wave good-bye.

[User] It didn’t bother Arakiya, who simply nodded and dived into the water. She set out with a speed that rivaled any aquatic demon beast. The actual aquatic creatures didn’t notice Arakiya, who had practically become water thanks to the power of the spirit. No beast would deliberately snap at empty water. Thus, Arakiya managed to do what no one had done since the foundation of the sword-slave island—cross the lake alone, and easily at that. It had taken her less than ten minutes. “—?” Suddenly, she noticed something that caused her to drop her otherwise steady pace. She had spotted a small island between the shore and the main island. In fact, it was really too small to be called an island; it was more a collection of rocks. She’d noticed it because partaking of the water spirit made her more sensitive to slight changes in the current and flow of the lake water. She also registered blood in the water. She changed direction and headed for the spit of rocks, following the smell of blood until she made landfall. Now she could see traces of gore, leading into a little crevice among the boulders. And when she followed it…

[Assistant] “Hell, I don’t even know what’s goin’ on anymore. I must have lost so much blood that I’m seein’ things.”

[Assistant] Arakiya squinted to see better. “One thing’s for sure. I know a naked, silver-haired girl didn’t just drop in and find me on these rocks… Not with my karma…” In the crevice, she found a man who was missing one arm. His black hair was soaked, and across his chest was a wound that was obviously serious. It was his blood she had been following, and it was clear that if the man—presumably someone somehow connected to the island—didn’t get help soon, death would not be long in coming. Arakiya thought for a moment. Her orders were to retrieve the imperial nobility on the island. To do that, she had to lower the drawbridge so that Orbart could get across. And to do that, it would be helpful to have some knowledge of the island’s inner workings. “You don’t…want to die?” she asked.

[User] “” The man didn’t respond.

[Assistant] “If you don’t want to die… Mmm. I will help you. In exchange, you will talk to me.” Arakiya modeled the terms of her negotiation based on the way her former mistress— No, in Arakiya’s heart, she still served the young woman.


[User] But this was the first time Arakiya had ever tried to negotiate for anything in her life.

[Assistant] “You think I’m afraid of dying, after all this? Shoulda tried that…before I’d died a million times…” Blood flecked the man’s lips as he spoke, sounding like he was pronouncing a curse.


[User] The sword slaves of Ginonhive had rebelled and were demanding to be freed from the island. All the spectators who had come to Ginonhive to celebrate the enthronement of the new emperor had been taken as hostages. That was the plan anyway, explained the pretty boy who appeared to be the leader of this armed rebellion. Priscilla Pendleton, posing as Serena Delacroix, narrowed her crimson eyes. She was a girl of just twelve years old, but the glint in her stare, the hard edge of knowledge and cruelty, was enough to convince everyone that she was the esteemed high countess. No one in the room dared to doubt her claim. Of course, if they ever figured out the truth, Priscilla’s life would be forfeit, along with that of her husband Jorah, who had accompanied her…

[Assistant] “Independence for the sword-slave island? Exactly the sort of myopic dream I would expect of people who live tiny lives on a cramped rock in a lake. Not surprising. Not interesting. A true waste of time.” Priscilla sniffed.

[User] “Oh—,” Jorah interjected, pale.

[Assistant] “Heh-heh!” He laughed as if the entire thing was very funny to him. “You do have a way with words. A ruthless way. I’m not upset… Although, I’m not sure I can speak for everyone here.”

[User] “As if I care what mindless incompetents make of my words. Clearly, you gave them a pretty speech or two, and it was enough to have them eating out of your hand.”

[Assistant] "Well! Did I say something strange?”

[User] “I should say so. You seem like one of the less stupid people here, which means you ought to appreciate that the chances of achieving independence for this island and freedom for the sword slaves are exactly zero.”

[Assistant] The boy shrugged, but he didn’t so much as flinch at Priscilla’s pronouncement.

[User] “Hey, what’s this about?” one of them demanded. “You said that if we took the high countess here hostage, those bastards in the capital would—”

[Assistant] “Listen to you? You live in Volakia. Surely, you know that ridiculous saying: Citizens of the empire, be strong. Would a high countess who got back to the capital by fearing for her life be strong? And what about you, who have taken hostages in hopes of gaining an edge in negotiations? Are you strong?”

[User] “I can tell you what the capital’s response will be.


[User] When he hears that you’re demanding to speak with him about your freedom, the emperor will act quickly to destroy his enemies. I expect it will involve the Nine Divine Generals, who serve His Excellency directly.

[Assistant] That name, the Nine Divine Generals, sent a shiver through all the ruffians and Jorah as well. They were Volakia’s nine strongest warriors who served directly under the emperor. The sword slaves on this island had some justifiable confidence in their abilities after surviving so many fights, but the Nine were on a different level. In this world, some were blessed with specific talents, natural abilities; and some were not. The gulf in power between the two was despair-inducing—and the Nine Divine Generals demonstrated this. It was not a title one could gain by virtue of status or pedigree, but only through the glory of triumphant violence. A lively confusion broke out among the sword slaves when they were told that the Nine might be coming for them.

[User] “This is no laughing matter, Ubirk! Is that true, what she said?! We didn’t hear anything about this!” The man who had led Priscilla here laid into the pretty boy.

[Assistant] “Please, please calm down, Gajeet. Just imagine how frightened I would be if the likes of them showed up! I hardly know how to hold a sword!”

[User] “This is no time for games, you little…” The man called Gajeet, the one with the saber, grabbed the pretty boy—Ubirk—by the collar.

[Assistant] “It’s obvious what the high countess wants. She’s hoping to rattle us, just like this, so that we’ll fold and surrender to her. But I… No, no, we won’t be taken in by her little plan. Persistence and even greed are our bread and butter. Am I wrong?” Ubirk continued trying to calm him down.

[User] At that, the other man clicked his tongue—“Pfah!”—and released his grip on Ubirk. The other sword slaves likewise looked pained but no longer angry. Priscilla found the entire thing idiotic, to put it in a word, but she knew they could hardly stop now. They had already done the deed. They couldn’t surrender at this point, apologizing and saying that their assumptions had been wrong. It was impossible. They were already beyond the point of no return. That was why they couldn’t back down.

[Assistant] “Pri—Serena, what is he planning?” Jorah whispered.

[User] “Huh. So my husband has actually found use for his head besides quaking in fear. Color me surprised.”

[Assistant] “Pl-please don’t mock me, this is an important matter.” Jorah’s voice shook, but he took a breath and said, “I agree with you about the emperor’s judgment. We can’t expect him to recognize Ginonhive’s independence. We can’t expect help.”

[User] As she listened to her husband quietly poke holes in the sword slaves’ plan, Priscilla narrowed her crimson eyes, encouraging him with her silence to continue. "I am a count of this empire myself, even if not much of one. I know how this nation operates.


[User] "The traditional ways of our empire would never allow him to show anything even resembling weakness. The only end this armed rebellion can have is destruction." Priscilla concluded.

[Assistant] "I can’t imagine he doesn’t know that." Jorah said, his gaze turning slowly toward Ubirk, who was still trying to fire up his ruffians.

[User] Priscilla quite agreed with Jorah’s assessment.

[Assistant] "Independence for this island is just a cover. He has some other goal." Priscilla said.

[User] Priscilla looked around, quietly waiting for her moment.

[Assistant] "The world bends itself to suit me."


[User] "That will help. You won’t die now. Probably."

[Assistant] "Yeah, than— Hngh!" He was trying to thank her when he was hit in his freshly cloth-wrapped wound and cried out in pain.

[User] Al finally looked at his nurse and said, "Maybe it’s a little late to be sayin’ this, but you don’t embarrass easily, do you? Gotta admit, I never thought I’d ever be lucky enough to see a gorgeous gal like you just show up in front of me in her birthday suit."

[Assistant] "—? Did I do something strange?" asked the brown-skinned girl scratching her cheek and cocking her head at Al.

[User] Al guessed the girl was about twelve or thirteen years old.

[Assistant] "Guess it all depends on where you were born and how you were raised. Me, I like a dynamite body—you know, babababoom! Lucky thing, too. Looks like both our lives were saved today."

[User] "It’s you whose life was saved. Me…just normal. I think?"

[Assistant] "Hey, you’re the one askin’ the question. But anyway, here I am seein’ a silver-haired girl when I’m about to die… Any chance I’m in hell?" Al suddenly shivered, and not because it was cold. He smiled pathetically.


[User] Arakiya touched her sopping wet hair, water dripping. She narrowed her crimson eyes and said, “My silver hair… Is it strange? It’s pretty. That’s what the princess always said.”

[Assistant] “Aw, no, no. Just talking to myself. It’s my own problem. Nothing to do with you, kid—I’ve just got some bad memories about silver hair. It reminds me that I’m a useless piece of trash.”

[User] “—?” Arakiya simply cocked her head again at Al’s self-directed tirade; she didn’t understand.

[Assistant] Al’s smile only grew more bitter; he couldn’t believe he was unloading on this young lady right after she’d saved his life. He heaved a very long sigh, as if he might be able to breathe out the knot in his chest. But of course he couldn’t. “It’s…Ya know. There was someone important to me, and I wasn’t able to help them when it mattered most.”

[User] “Oh… I understand that. I’m the same. I couldn’t help the princess.” Arakiya’s head drooped, and her fingers brushed her left eye. She’d fretted at the bandage on it while she was tending to Al. Her right eye appeared to be a bright red, but he suspected that under that covering, her left eye had lost its light. That one blind eye seemed to be the key to the memory of her regrets.

[Assistant] “Yeesh. Guess I can’t say anything right,” Al said. He felt bad for the girl; he shouldn’t have brought up what he had. It was sick, a middle-aged guy getting a youngster with her whole life ahead of her wrapped up in his own feeling of powerlessness. He’d spent enough worthless, empty time on that island to think this sort of self-reproach was appropriate. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m just talking funny talk now. Guess it wouldn’t be very nice to ask you to forget I said anything, but maybe you could ignore it. There must be something you’re here to do, right? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be out in a dangerous lake like this.”

[User] “Mm-hmm. The island… It’s been taken over, right?”

[Assistant] “Seems like. I didn’t really see what happened myself.” Al felt bad not being able to speak with more authority, but he hadn’t exactly been able to slow down and take it all in. All he knew was he’d suddenly found himself in a fight to the death with the most powerful woman on the sword-slave island. The truth of it was, he considered it nothing short of a miracle that he hadn’t sustained a fatal injury—and even that had been a near thing. He’d come within an inch of his life for that miracle. “And while I was busy finding out if I was gonna buy the farm, Ubirk and the Hornet took over the place with everyone who bought into their spiel, huh? …And what’s your part in all this, young lady?”

[User] “The drawbridge. I will lower it.


[User] "Because without that, the soldiers cannot get to the island.”

[Assistant] “That ain’t gonna be easy.”

[User] “Hmm,” Arakiya said, annoyed at how quickly Al poked a hole in her plan when he heard what she was after. It was an adorable reaction, very much expected of a girl her age, but unfortunately for her, what Al said was true. She would not find it easy to do. As long as the drawbridge between the island and the mainland was up, the troops from the capital wouldn’t be able to assault Ginonhive. In other words, that drawbridge was the lifeline of the sword slaves currently occupying the island, and they would know it. Which meant only one thing:

[Assistant] “The strongest card they have in their hand is going to be played there. And the strongest card on this island is a monster named the Hornet. We call her the Empress of the sword slaves.”

[User] “The Empress…of the sword slaves? Is she strong?”

[Assistant] “Remember how you found me mostly dead? She did that to me,” Al said, pointing to himself.

[User] “—? Does that mean she’s strong?” Arakiya’s question was not really answered. Al’s prowess was likely a matter of debate in her eyes. He only had one arm, he’d been clinging to life when she found him, and Arakiya herself was probably no slouch in a fight. He couldn’t blame her if she didn’t think much of him. But there was no question about the Hornet’s strength. There was no one on the island who could stand against her, and even the strongest warriors in the empire might have their hands full in a straight fight. Even Arakiya, who appeared to be stronger than Al, was likely no exception.

[Assistant] “Might be a different story if you put it off a while, grow up strong and healthy first. You got a few years to kill before you need that drawbridge down?”

[User] “No… I have things I must do.” Arakiya shook her head and gave the obvious answer.

[Assistant] “Figures.” Al smiled ruefully but got to his feet, supporting himself against the wall. He still felt a little light-headed from blood loss, but he thought he could move if he focused on it.

[User] Arakiya watched him stand, then blinked her large eyes. "What are you going to do?”

[Assistant] “What’ve I got to do? You need to get to that island, right, young lady? You’ll need someone who knows their way around the place if you want to get that drawbridge down. That’s why you helped me—right?”

[User] “…Oh!”

[Assistant] “Don’t tell me you forgot! …Ooh. Yelling makes a guy’s head spin…” Al smiled at Arakiya, realizing she was the type to get lost in whatever she was doing at that moment. Here was the reality: Going back to an island bristling with enemies was suicidal no matter how many lives he had. But going with Arakiya? That was another story. His life might hardly be worth a grain of sand, but he owed it to her.


[User] “And ain’t no one gonna accuse me of being ungrateful. I’ll guide you around that island. But…”

[Assistant] “Mn. That will help. Fighting… That is my job.” He stopped short of saying that when the enemy showed up, he was going to run away with his tail between his legs. If Arakiya, who actually had a tail, was so determined, Al could hardly go around whining. With their minds made up, Al squeezed out of the crevice among the rocks and looked at the accursed island, the home of the sword slaves, where a bunch of spectators were being held hostage, and a bunch of people who were either very brave or very stupid had declared war against the empire… Al tilted his head from side to side to get the water out of his ears. “All right, so we know we’re going. But how do we get there?” he said, frowning. He was confronted with the same thing that made it necessary to lower the drawbridge in the first place: the lake that surrounded the island, chock-full of demon beasts. The lake they had to cross if they wanted to make it to land. That was the first hurdle. The first thing between him and repaying his savior.


[User] Priscilla pensively closed an eye as she looked at Gajeet from her place in a luxurious chair, where she was waiting for time to pass, bored.

[Assistant] “Hey, how much of what you said was true?” The speaker was a man with a strange haircut—he’d shaved off his hair, but only half of it. He was the saber user, the one Ubirk had called Gajeet. She assumed he had a certain authority, here where proven ability was valued above all. She suspected he could handle himself in a fight. The fact that he seemed to be acting as spokesman for the others made that clear. Although, the fact that he only acted when the true leader, Ubirk, wasn’t present showed that Gajeet’s bravery was something of a sham. “Don’t be coy with me, noblewoman. Do ya understand the position you’re in? Eh?”

[User] “Spare me your yammering. I think you fail to understand the position you’re in. The very ground beneath your feet is unstable.”

[Assistant] “What was that?” Gajeet demanded.

[User] “You’ve let that rabble-rouser dictate every little thing. You’re unwilling or unable to use your own head. And if you can’t use your head, that means you can’t use the eyes, ears, or nose that go with it. The lot of you got here by covering your eyes, blocking your ears, and plugging your noses, simply letting yourselves be led along by the hand. Am I wrong?” Priscilla’s attitude never changed despite Gajeet’s attempt to intimidate her. Beside her, Jorah was looking distinctly nervous. As for the thoroughly berated Gajeet, he couldn’t hide his displeasure, but he didn’t look like he was going to do anything rash.


[User] "The capital will do exactly as I said. The Nine Divine Generals will come—precisely how many fingers of the emperor’s hand fall upon you is up to him, but when the generals arrive, this little uprising will be quashed in a matter of moments.”

[Assistant] :Listen to you talk. How many people do you think we have here?”

[User] “It doesn’t matter. And you know it.”

[User] “And yet you did this… Why?” Jorah asked, looking at the blanching sword slaves.

[Assistant] Gajeet gave a listless sigh.

[User] “You curs may take one of two paths. You may continue to let that agitator lead you around by the nose and allow your lives to be snuffed out trying and failing to challenge the Nine Divine Generals. Or…”

[Assistant] “Yes? Or what?”

[User] “Or you may struggle against your destiny and win back your lives with your own hands.”

[Assistant] “Try using those heads of yours, which have gone untested until now. Your destiny is your own,” Priscilla said, watching the men try to quicken wits they didn’t have, she could only shrug.

[User] “High Countess Delacroix. Won’t you join me on the balcony?


[User] "You can see the shore quite clearly." Ubirk had come back into the room. "A mundane invitation. But better than being here, I suppose."

[Assistant] Priscilla rose to accept the pretty boy’s offer, but as she did so, she turned to her husband and said, "You stay here. I need no strange suspicions arising."

[User] "Wha? !" Jorah goggled, but Priscilla ignored him.

[Assistant] With Jorah’s anxious eyes on her, she followed Ubirk out onto the balcony, where the night breeze brushed past them.


[User] The drawbridge remained up, as it had since several hours before, cutting Ginonhive off from the outside world. But there was something that was different from how she remembered it, too. Namely…

[Assistant] "It looks like the emperor’s troops have camped out on the far shore. You can see little lights over there." Ubirk said, shading his eyes with his hand.

[User] And indeed, fires could be seen twinkling on the distant mainland. The breeze carried a sense of almost palpable anticipation as the soldiers prepared for battle.

[Assistant] "I saw you talking to Gajeet and the others. Not very quick to act, are they? I know how you must feel, I really do. I spent five years convincing them to stop dragging their feet."

[User] "Don’t venture to compare your sophistry with my grandeur, commoner. It’s disrespectful."

[Assistant] "Sophistry? You wound me." But then he chuckled. "So I’m a disrespectful commoner, am I?" He leaned against the balcony railing.

[User] Plucking the pretty boy’s life away from him would have been simple for Priscilla. But then…

[Assistant] "It wouldn’t mean anything, would it? We’ve come this far. Taking my head now wouldn’t stop it. I just gave things a little push."

[User] "Hmph. A push. And whom, exactly, did you give this push to?"

[Assistant] "Oh, whoever happened to be around. Anyone who didn’t seem to have much on their minds." Ubirk laughed aloud. Then he took the hem of his own shirt and began to raise it up. It was the simple, rough-hewn outfit of every captive on the island, and as he pulled it upward, it revealed his thin, bony body.

[User] Priscilla frowned, but she soon realized that he wasn’t stripping simply for the sake of it. He was showing her something. Something that explained how he’d managed to fan the flames of this rebellion.

[Assistant] "The Demon Eye Clan."

[User] "Precisely. A rare sight, right? There aren’t many of us left.


[User] "I’m one of just a few survivors." Ubirk let his shirt drop back down and raised his hands in a teasing I’m gonna get you posture.

[Assistant] Priscilla didn’t react at all, but she crossed her arms, resting her elbows in her hands.

[User] "Now the Demon Eye Clan is supposed to be all but extinct. They’re considered almost as rare as Demons."

[Assistant] "You’re well-informed. Yes, I’


[User] Instead, you owned right up to it…”

[Assistant] As far as it went, it made no real difference to Priscilla that Ubirk had seen through her lie. She hadn’t expected the cover to last very long.

[User] For his part, Ubirk, who was being careful to keep this conversation out of earshot of the guards, didn’t seem to plan on telling the other sword slaves who Priscilla really was. It was, in a sense, a negotiating strategy on his part. He knew she wasn’t who she claimed to be, but he wouldn’t tell anyone. And in exchange…

[Assistant] “I need you to stay out of my way for a little while, miss.”

[User] “You benighted little boy. Even you must be able to see that your trivial rebellion will be crushed in short order. Drawbridge or no, those forces you see assembled on the far shore will figure out a way to cross the lake sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time.”

[Assistant] Ubirk smiled and said softly, “Yes. And time is exactly what I want.”

[User] At that moment, from the swirl of Priscilla’s questions emerged an answer that made sense to her. “So that’s what you’re after.” She saw now why Ubirk had instigated this uprising, knowing perfectly well that it would be quashed. She knew why he wanted to buy this time so desperately.

[Assistant] He looked at her in surprise. Her murmured words had given away that his plan was now known to her. “Well, well. Is that all it took for you to figure out what I was after? And—and! The strange thing is, I don’t doubt that you’re telling the truth. You’re weirdly persuasive that way.”

[User] “—I don’t much care whether or not you find me persuasive. The question is, what are you going to do? Now that I’ve figured out your plan, what comes next?”

[Assistant] “This is a pickle. Here I thought I had the upper hand,” Ubirk said, scratching his head and smiling with a touch of bitterness. Under his shirt, the Demon Eye in his chest was fixed on Priscilla. If it was the Demon Eye that had allowed him to cause this rebellion, then its power must be related to sensing the emotions of others—a dangerous ability. Ubirk, though, shook his head and said, “No. My Demon Eye doesn’t do anything so convenient. And I doubt it would work on you. So I suppose the wisest course of action would be to silence you…”

[User] Priscilla didn’t speak.

[Assistant] “…but one nagging doubt won’t let me do that. And so.” Ubirk summoned the guards with a snap of his fingers. Two men appeared, a large one in full body armor and another, smaller, with his torso exposed. “Please escort the lady to a separate room from her husband. And try to be courteous about it.”

[User] “Courteous. That’s a good one,” the smaller man said, a grating laugh that sounded like a buzzing insect issuing from his mouth. “That’s all we ever are around here.


[User] "Well, she is our trump card." Ubirk turned and looked at Priscilla. His eyes were so deep. It was impossible to tell what emotion they held.

[Assistant] "I’m going to have to ask you to stay with us for a while. Although, I admit that might seem like hubris when I consider that the Nine Divine Generals are going to reduce this place to dust."

[User] "Hoh. So you have a plan? Something that will foil the emperor’s own generals?" Priscilla raised an eyebrow.

[Assistant] "Let’s just say that you have your emperor…and we have our Empress."

[User] The word empress caught Priscilla’s attention. "…someone strong enough to challenge for the imperial throne."


[Assistant] Glub glub, glub glub—the scenery went shooting past them at incredible speed. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. Really, there was nothing striking enough to be called “scenery” anywhere nearby, and it wasn’t what was around them that was moving, but they themselves. Just a one-armed, middle-aged man named Al being dragged through the water of the lake at a fantastic rate.

[User] "Blrgh? !" he exclaimed as the swim came to an abrupt halt. Unable to completely kill his momentum, Al came flying out of the water and rolled across a hard surface. He came to a halt lying on his back on the cold ground, where he greedily filled his lungs with as much oxygen as he could get.

[Assistant] "Hoo…hoo… I thought I was a goner!" Al panted, reflecting that he had been scared to death as well as almost just plain dead. One reason for that was, of course, that he couldn’t breathe underwater—but the second was that he’d found himself locking eyes with more than one demon beast swimming through the lake. It was literally a different world down there, and it belonged to those guys, who called the water home. The very fact that Al had survived to be washed up on the tiny rock where Arakiya had found him was itself only thanks to a small series of miracles. It’s ridiculous, thinkin’ how many times I should’ve been torn to pieces by those creatures.

[User] There was a splash as Arakiya followed him out of the water.

[Assistant] "We’ve arrived."

[User] "Thanks, I can see that. And here…put this on." He scowled at the still-naked (and still-not-embarrassed) young woman and tossed her his own ratty shirt. It was soaked with water, covered in blood, and boasted plenty of holes, but it would sure beat walking around with a naked girl.

[Assistant] Arakiya, in deference to Al’s feelings, tore the shirt in two, wrapping one piece around her chest and the other around her waist, thereby eliminating the most problematic things about her lack of dress.


[User] Having solved the logical problem, Al then cocked his head and said softly, “Back home, and it’s only been a few hours… Place feels eerie, though.” He gazed up at the sword-slave island, over which a shroud of silence had fallen. He and Arakiya had made landfall at the waste-disposal site on the lower part of the island—a simple landing from which trash, garbage, and anything else unnecessary that was generated on the island was thrown into the lake to feed the demon beasts. Despite its direct access to the lake, there were no guards here on the lookout for any imperial soldiers trying to sneak in this way. The aquatic demon beasts were guards enough—usually. "They gotta figure no one’d be crazy enough to try to come up this way.”

[Assistant] “This place. What is it for?”

[User] “It’s where they pitch the island’s trash. Rotten food, human shit—and any person who’s become waste themselves.”

[Assistant] “A person who’s become waste?”

[User] “I mean corpses. The demon beasts take ’em away. It’s real…eco-friendly, ya know?” Al said.

[Assistant] Arakiya looked deeply disturbed.

[User] Al felt it was an eminently sensible way of handling things. After all, as long as sword slaves had to fight one another for the entertainment of spectators, the island would continue to generate bodies. The whole island was dedicated to the fights—they couldn’t set aside land to bury anyone. Besides, who would go visit the graves even if they had them? Hence, it was the most efficient way to take care of the dead. “‘Course, you get the occasional spectator with, uh, funny tastes who’ll buy one of the corpses.”

[Assistant] “The corpses? What do they do with them?”

[User] “Hey, not every sword slave is a big, ugly brute like me. Sometimes, you get handsome guys, even the occasional attractive woman passing through here. But everyone dies when it’s their time. If they die pretty, there are people who’ll pay for ’em.” He’d even heard of people who purchased the bodies of rare demi-humans in order to have them stuffed—more than a few people from unusual tribes came through the sword-slave island. In any event, excepting those few poor souls who continued to find themselves debased even after death, most corpses were flung into the lake, where they became nutrients for the demon beasts and entered the food chain. "Not sure if one’s any better than the other after you’re dead,” Al said. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t think it would make much difference to him after he was gone whether his body was turned into a plaything or fed to the beasts. Dead was dead; there was nothing left after that. There was nothing left—but there was a proper cycle of nature. “Hmm? What’s up, young lady?


[User] "You keep starin’ at me." Arakiya, quite ignorant of Al’s thoughts and feelings at that moment, did indeed have him pinned with her gaze, with one eye in which a spark burned and one in which the light had gone out.

[Assistant] "Not bad…I think."

[User] "Hmm? What’s not bad?"

[Assistant] "Your face? Your face. I do not think you’re an ugly brute.”

[User] Al found himself lost for words—of everything he’d thought she might say, that wasn’t it.

[Assistant] "—The drawbridge. The thing that makes it move—where is it?"

[User] While Al was still trying to figure out whether to say thank you, Arakiya was already on to the next subject. That made the decision for Al: He stopped worrying about words of gratitude and jerked his chin upward. "That’s it. You see the big tower right by the drawbridge? That’s the control tower for the bridge mechanism. If you can get in there, it shouldn’t be hard at all to let the bridge down.”

[Assistant] Arakiya looked where Al had indicated, squinting to get a better view of the tower.

[User] "And that means everyone I know’s likely to disappear all at once…just like they did four years ago."

[Assistant] "Hey, hold on. Are they gonna blame me for this, too? Wipe me right out?"

[User] "It’s all right… I will talk to them. I will probably not forget. Certainly."

[Assistant] "That’s a little vague for comfort! Anyway—” But then Al stopped talking, for Arakiya was giving him a strange look despite his grimace.


[User] "I really don’t think you can beat the Hornet, little girl."

[Assistant] Arakiya was stronger than Al, or so he suspected. But the Hornet was stronger than a hundred Als. There was no way Arakiya could overcome that monster. He thought they should beat a retreat, go get those Nine Divine Generals, who were supposedly waiting back on the far shore.

[User] Arakiya could drag them over here through the water, the same way she’d done with Al. "I think…swimming would be hard. Over a short distance, it might be all right, but…"

[Assistant] “Guess it’s not really realistic to tell them to hold their breath for ten or fifteen minutes, huh? But I’m not sure it’s any better to think you can beat the Hornet.”

[User] “I’m thinking. If I can’t win…then I won’t fight.”

[Assistant] “What?” Al looked shocked, but Arakiya grabbed something out of the air—a lesser spirit, glowing dimly. Without a moment’s hesitation, she stuffed it into her mouth, chewing the incorporeal being. “” She’d told Al she was a “spirit eater.” She could consume the countless beings known as spirits that floated through the air, taking them into her body and acquiring their characteristics. That was how she had become like a lesser water spirit in order to safely cross the lake.

[User] In fact, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say she had become water itself, swimming at a speed that far outstripped any normal person. How could Al not buy her explanation? She’d dragged him through the lake at a tremendous speed. So in order to cross the lake, Arakiya had consumed a water spirit. In that case, in order to reach the control tower and lower the drawbridge, she would consume…

[Assistant] “A wind spirit.”

[User] “Hey, hold on, you can’t be serious…” As Al watched, Arakiya’s body began to transform into wind. Meaning she gradually turned invisible. If he squinted, Al could just see Arakiya’s silhouette, but only because he knew what to look for. “Wow, you can do anything with those things. Convenient stuff. I think I’ll start living on spirits from now on.”

[Assistant] “I don’t really recommend it… You can end up disappearing.”

[User] “Ahh, it’s that sort of thing, huh? You can’t maintain your identity, and then—poof!” It sounded to him like in order to merge with the spirits as a spirit eater, an absolutely unshakable sense of self was required. And if sense of self was the key, well, she was right: He wasn’t cut out for it. Al was practically the poster boy for not knowing who he really was.


[User] “It’s gonna be a riot if you get up there and find out the Hornet isn’t even inside.” After all his warnings about how powerful she was, if the Hornet herself wasn’t in that control tower, it would really be anticlimactic. Even if it would also make it a lot easier for Arakiya to accomplish her goal.

[Assistant] Arakiya, though, didn’t so much as smile at Al’s little joke as she looked up at the tower. “No. She’s there.”


[User] Al and Arakiya, full of doubt and vigilance, arrived back on the island in short order. They were headed for the control tower—although it was purely circumstance that made Al stick with Arakiya. He wanted to pay her back for saving his life, but once he felt he’d fulfilled his debt, he planned to part ways with Arakiya, to live a different life. By this point, he’d already told her how to lower the drawbridge, helped her get around the island, and given her enough clothing that people wouldn’t just dismiss her as a pervert. He thought that all amounted to quite a bit of help and that he didn’t have much debt left to pay off.

[Assistant] “Hrgh!” As Al watched, the short-haired man before him crumpled, blood gushing from his head. Another man who had been talking to him reacted with shock at the sudden and violent death of his conversation partner. But it wasn’t Al’s job to tell him what had happened—or to soothe his wounded heart. Instead, he snatched the knife the startled man had at his waist, grabbed it in a reverse grip, and stabbed the man in the heart with it. Then he twisted hard. The two guards died without a sound, within five seconds of each other. Maybe they could continue their conversation in the next life.

[User] Al made an impressed sound as he wiped the blood off the knife on his shirt. “Phew. Turning invisible. Now that’s an unfair advantage.”

[Assistant] “And you… You’re stronger than I thought. Even though you have only one arm.” The barely visible Arakiya responded.

[User] He thought maybe her assessment was a little too honest, but he chose to take it as a compliment. Whatever the case, the guards’ outfits were too bloodstained to be wearable, so it looked like Old Man Al was going to have to continue this stealth mission in his half-dressed state. “Man, they really did take over this island, didn’t they?”

[Assistant] “You thought I was lying?”

[User] “Let’s say I hoped I was…dreaming.” Al hadn’t loved anyone on the island—he hadn’t even had any friends. No, that wasn’t true. The guard Orlan had been his friend. Al mourned his death from the bottom of his heart. But that was it. After ten years as a sword slave, Orlan was about the only person Al felt any affection toward. Otherwise, there really wasn’t anything here for him.


[User] "Wonder what I’ll do next…"

[Assistant] He’d spent his days like grass blowing in the wind, like a leaf scudding across a pond at the behest of the breeze.


[User] "There." Arakiya suddenly spoke as Al stood by the guards he’d taken out.

[Assistant] Al held his breath and looked in the direction she was pointing.

[User] "!" Al almost choked, seized by a feeling like his heart was caught in a vise. He hurried to hide in the shadows by the wall.

[Assistant] "Huff…huff…" Al became aware of his own ragged breath as he put a hand to his chest, which suddenly hurt again.

[User] “…Ha!” With that thought, Al laughed mockingly, getting his frozen thoughts back into motion.


[User] "Hey… Young lady… I’m real sorry, but this is as far as I go."

[Assistant] Arakiya didn’t say anything.

[User] "She’s already almost killed me once… Hell, more like a hundred times. I can’t find it in me to do anything about her." Al told Arakiya that he was leaving the battlefield, fully expecting her to berate him as an ingrate.

[Assistant] "Mmm. Understood. Thank you."

[User] "Listen, kid, give it up. No one’ll blame you. ’Least, I won’t. You hear me, right?"

[Assistant] "She is probably strong."

[User] "No probably about it. She’s the real deal. She’s at least the third or fourth strongest living creature I’ve come across in my lifetime."

[Assistant] "What are the first and second?"

[User] "Don’t wanna think about ’em."

[Assistant] "Listen, kid—," Al began, but his middle-aged-man sermon couldn’t stop the rash young woman with a future.

[User] "Bye," Arakiya said, and then her almost-invisible body merged with the wind as she made for the control tower, literally as quick as the breeze.


[Assistant] "Weeell, now. What an odd breeze."

[User] Hornet turned and brought her blades—her very arms—straight through the breeze. The swipe looked broad, undirected, but it struck Arakiya square in the chest.

[Assistant] Arakiya detected the aura of oncoming death and floated into the air, dodging the blow.


[User] “Well, well, weeeell!” The Hornet almost seemed to be singing as she continued her danse macabre, the evil rolling off her.

[Assistant] “—!” Arakiya, one with the wind, could move better and faster than could possibly be expected, but the Hornet pressed her with merciless strokes of the swords that were her arms until Arakiya was nearly cornered. She tried desperately to evade the spiral of death—she was obviously fighting a monumental battle, but the Hornet was still only playing. Which was not to say she wasn’t enjoying the fight. Murder was her hobby, torment one of her favorite pastimes. Thus, the exchange of attack and defense that enabled her to corner Arakiya was all part of a ritual for her pleasure.

[User] “I…,” Al started, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. I told you so. She’d been rash, yes; it had been obvious that this was what was going to happen. But it had been Al’s choice not to stop the young woman by force. Of course, there was a distinct possibility he wouldn’t have been able to stop her even if he’d tried—but that was how people who only had one chance at life thought about things. It didn’t apply to Al. If he’d wanted to, he could have stopped her. And yet he hadn’t. Al had no desire any longer to spend himself trying to bend the wills of others. That was why he’d watched the girl go to a battle in which he knew she would die, why he only observed the fight knowingly, and why he would watch as the girl met her blood-soaked end. “” Something deep within him ached; it was like a tremendous weight was going to crush his heart. If this was a symptom of the stress of facing something deeply difficult to bear, then why was he standing here, watching something he didn’t want to see? Not for any heroic reason like wanting to see out the consequences of his choices. He wasn’t a big enough person to have important reasons like that. He was just a middle-aged man with a pitiful excuse for a weapon and a lifetime of somehow avoiding any mortal wounds—though he still bore the scars of so many others. His spirit was broken. He couldn’t even dream. He had no reason to fight and nothing that would drive him to win. No motivation at all to struggle against anything. And yet Al—

[Assistant] "Oh."

[User] "Well!" The great blade came down in a strike that was impossible to avoid. Blood danced into the night sky. The half naked girl’s bond with the wind was broken; she stumbled backward and collapsed on the flagstones. The Empress of the island of the sword slaves looked down at the blood-spattered girl and gave her a sweet smile.

[Assistant] "You are just the cutest little thing, aren’t you?"