——The Lugunica Kingdom, the Volachia Empire, the
Generally known as the Four Great Nations, each of these countries has developed its own unique culture suited to its territory. Lugunica's dragon-servant spirit and Gusteko's faith in spirits are among the most prominent examples, but the Four Great Nations have walked divergent paths as if by design.
This extends beyond national culture and customs—it is equally true in the quality of their "warriors."
In the Volachia Empire, "magic" has barely developed.
Though the talent borne in people's bodies—the gates and such—differs little from nation to nation, the Empire lags far behind the others in this field compared to Lugunica or Kararagi.
That said, the Empire doesn't particularly mind this fact.
Of course, falling behind in any field is never something to celebrate, but the fact that the path of magic remained closed to them is proof that other paths opened instead.
Compared to Kararagi's technological prowess, Gusteko's spirit arts and curse arts, and Lugunica's mastery of magic, what the Volachia Empire excels at is the refinement of martial techniques.
"There are times when it's faster to just zoom in and clobber someone rather than use magic, right?"
While such a statement—wholly unbecoming of a spirit arts practitioner—isn't universally endorsed, in the Volachia Empire, that is roughly the prevailing attitude toward magic.
This is the kind of fact that is easily misunderstood and, furthermore, never formally codified: the mana dwelling in a human body is not limited to magical use.
It is used in spirit arts, in curse arts, and in the activation of certain "Meteors." Among martial techniques, there exist plenty that draw upon mana as their foundation.
For a first-rate warrior, using mana to enhance one's own body is simply the natural course of things.
If someone occasionally possesses physical abilities far beyond those of an ordinary person, the mechanism behind it is how they handle the mana circulating within their body—this conscious application is known as the "Flow Method," and those individuals are practitioners of it.
However— "Cha-cha-cha-cha-cha!"
With a single tap of his toes against the ground, the next instant, a distance of over ten meters is erased.
To anyone watching from the sidelines, the pursuit of that figure would feel as if time itself had been stolen—an otherworldly display of body control. But it was no illusion, nor was it some ocular anomaly.
The anomaly was the blue-haired boy himself, charging across the battlefield.
Following the explanation just given, the boy's sprint—easily surpassing human limits—undoubtedly drew from the lineage of the Flow Method. Yet there was nothing in his youthful age and sharp, striking beauty to suggest any trace of the days spent honing such techniques.
The world is home, on rare occasions, to beings like these—those who wield even the Flow Method, regarded as the pinnacle of martial arts, with unconscious, innate fluency, leaving those bound by rationality far behind.
Descending the hillside in a single breath, the boy plunged into the battlefield in pursuit of the honor of the first spear.
And yet— "Since the battle has already begun, the honor of the first spear is as good as nonexistent, but let's just say the details don't matter!"
Crashing in from the western lands onto the battlefield, he gazed upon the massive army surrounding the star-shaped fortress walls in the distance. The boy's narrow eyes gleamed with a fervor entirely out of place for a battlefield rife with pathos and fury alike.
He wore no proper footwear, no armor or helmet of any kind, and bore no noble cause as he made his way to the battlefield—a reckless act that could earn him the enmity of both those within the walls and those without, both those trying to save the current Empire and those trying to tear it down.
And yet— "A lofty sense of purpose is one of the distinguishing marks of a person. Whether it's there or not changes the very flavor of the lines one speaks. But—"
"What!?" Red shin guards, crude armor, and dozens of small, mutually hostile groups skirmishing in clusters. The voice of a boy cutting in from the side drew a soldier raising his blade to call out.
Anger, irritation, excitement, anxiety—all of these were mixed together, but the battle-crazed tone rang true. For an intruder appearing on a battlefield, it was a strange technique that only invited greater vigilance.
"But fatally slow!"
"Wha—"
Raising one's voice was the right call, but asking who they were—that was a mistake.
An unidentified presence appearing on a battlefield should be treated as an enemy—at least as a starting point. The soldier should have called for those around him to be on guard and struck at the same time.
Still, the boy was faster. He could have pointed out a dozen or twenty other mistakes as well.
"Oh, and if just now when you asked about my affiliation, what you really meant was that you had absolutely no idea what I am—then my apologies for the overwhelming lightning metaphor!"
Behind the boy's rapid-fire chatter, the soldier's eyes rolled back as he collapsed to the ground. In passing, the boy had delivered a sharp knife-hand to the neck. He'd thought it could decapitate, but the force was lacking.
Swinging his arms back and forth, he tilted his head, feeling that something was off.
"It's so frustrating when you feel like you can do it but can't. I, for one, shouldn't be mixing up ideals, desires, and actual feasibility, but... well, accidentally killing someone would lower the Boss's opinion of me, so let's call this a win!"
Having brushed off his frustration with that breezy attitude, the very next moment, the boy's smiling figure dissolved into a haze.
In that instant, a sword strike aimed at where the boy had been was dodged, and the boy's zori struck hard against the cheek of the soldier who had swung it. Then, using the recoil from kicking off the soldier, he leaped—plunging into the squad behind that soldier, striking each of their vital points before retreating. No—he slipped into the adjacent squad on his way out, felling five more. Just a bonus.
That bonus, and the main event alike, were all crimes committed by stealing the time of the surrounding soldiers.
In other words, it was proof that the boy's handling of his own body transcended human comprehension and could not be tracked by any normal measure of strength—the ultimate expression of Volachia's martial arts development.
Of course, on a battlefield, few would leisurely conduct such an analysis, and fewer still would be able to grasp that a boy of twelve or thirteen had reached such heights.
Above all— "How inelegant."
"———"
"To expose the skill of a star performer—a spectacle at its finest—during the performance itself? That's not very elegant. One should be captivated by the stage, enthralled, made a prisoner of it—and nothing more. Of course, should one be expected to take the stage as well, then a worthy rival... and one should assert the star-quality presence to match."
The soldiers surrounding the fallen Empire soldiers held their breath as the boy surveyed them from the center of their ranks.
The warriors who had been exchanging blows and locked in life-or-death combat—all of them, on both sides—had been swallowed by the boy's presence, robbed of their time, and thus of their lives.
"No, no—this is everything an actor could hope for..."
Taking other people's lives. The boy drew genuine satisfaction from the feeling.
As he savored that sense of accomplishment, one of the roughly armed fighters on the opposing side—the side fighting the fallen Empire soldiers—opened his mouth and said, "You—"
"Where are you from? Are you one of us?"
"Hmm, hmm-hmm—my affiliation? That's a rather good question, you know. What do you think? Am I friend or foe?"
"———"
Answering a question with a question—and in the most aggravating manner at that—the soldier who had asked faltered. Seeing this, the boy's smile deepened as he shook his head with a dismissive wave.
"I wasn't teasing you. I've genuinely thought about it myself. And every time I do, I realize—since I didn't listen very carefully to what the Boss said, I'm not really sure whose side I'm on."
"Huh?"
"So for now, I'll just be clearing the way and settling both sides."
The soldier's eyes went wide, and that startled expression blurred sideways as, in the next instant, he was flipped onto the ground.
The boy's grinning figure vanished from sight. This time, he slid into the group of fighters opposing the Empire soldiers he'd struck down earlier, and furiously swept their legs from under them.
Blue hair danced; sharp percussive sounds rang out; and before a single groan could escape, the fighters' consciousnesses were snuffed away. This rampage was truly like a storm—no, "The 'Blue Lightning'..."
"Oh my, how wonderful. That's exactly the epithet I was planning to claim for myself."
The soldier, who had gasped the words in shock, lost consciousness on the final syllable.
Responding to both friendly and hostile attitudes alike with equal violence—that was the Volachia way. To put it that way, even the Empire's emperor would furrow his brow at such barbarism.
But no one could stop the boy.
And in this Empire's way of doing things, this was considered the most correct course of action.
"Urgh—Ooooh—!!"
The warriors who had been too slow to act now moved in response to the boy's whirlwind of a threat.
Imperial soldiers and rebels alike—without distinction, all of their wills converged on stopping this boy. In a sense, this was a scene worthy of being called a grand feat: the civil war within this space had been stopped.
But their courageous decision was not rewarded with a peaceful answer.
Leaning aside to avoid a blade. Dancing backward to dodge a fist. Slipping below the legs to evade an axe swing. Dodging arrows, dodging spears, dodging fangs, dodging shields—dodging, dodging, dodging, dodging, evading, evading, evading, evading, dodging, dodging, dodging, dodging, dodging, dodging— "Without even a weapon...!"
"Yes, that is rather a problem. I do think that having a weapon rather than fighting barehanded would add much more flair and color to my big moments, but I don't want to carry anything second-rate. A first-rate person knows a first-rate person. Ah, but that's something the Boss told me."
"B-Boss...?"
"Yes. Our—the leader of the Pleiades Battle Corps."
Dodging the killing intent and hostility directed at him with ease, the boy's smile deepened with a boastful air. The unfamiliar word that fell from the boy's lips sent a shiver of nameless terror through the warriors.
They had all come here to risk their lives in the battle that would decide the fate of this Empire.
And yet, this boy before them—toying with them as he pleased—whose affiliation was unknown, whose depth of strength, whose true intentions, everything about him was a mystery.
Everything was a mystery, and yet everything seemed to bend to the boy's will— —In the next instant, from the direction of a distant hillside, an earth-shaking battle cry was heard.
The soldier who flinched involuntarily—who could blame him? The same shock and confusion rippled through the other warriors as well.
The reason the boy's smile grew even wider was not because he was mocking their fear, but for a much simpler reason: "Now then, it's time for the first big show, Boss. Make it a showstopper."
△▼△▼△▼△ Here, one must address an exceedingly unfortunate fact regarding "magic."
I have explained that in the Volachia Empire, magical arts did not develop, and only physical martial techniques and things like the "Flow Method" advanced. But this is a separate issue entirely.
It stems from the reason why, among the six elemental affinities that comprise the magic system of this world, the rarely-used "Yang Magic" and "Yin Magic" were disregarded—beyond the fact that research in these areas was difficult to advance.
The Fire Affinity, which manipulates thermal energy to produce flame or ice.
The Water Affinity, which interferes with the life force of living things, promoting healing of wounds and illness, and preserving life.
The Wind Affinity, which manipulates the atmosphere to regulate the environment and sometimes even secure a zone of survival in dangerous territory.
The Earth Affinity, which controls the power of the land—capable of enriching soil or causing famine.
Compared to these attributes, whose effects are intuitive and whose applications are easily envisioned, the量affinities—Yang and Yin—are fundamentally understood as having effects that either enhance or diminish bodily function.
Strictly speaking, this is an inaccurate understanding, but the fact that such an image has become entrenched is itself one of the chief reasons why the development of Yin and Yang magic has lagged behind to this day.
And perhaps surprisingly, the one that has continued to receive the worst evaluations—dismissed as a dud, as useless—is the Yang Affinity: the power to enhance one's abilities.
Upon learning the main effects of Yang Magic, many would surely wonder why it was so undervalued.
However, the more one tried to take advantage of Yang Magic's properties, the more numerous and troublesome the problems became—problems that could not be ignored.
For instance, those who received Yang Magic's enhancement to their physical abilities—if one asked how well they performed on the battlefield, most accomplished nothing before being struck down by the enemy.
The reason was simple: they could not handle their enhanced bodies at all, suffering the awkwardness of operating someone else's body, and were utterly unable to utilize their new strength.
"Enhancing physical abilities" encompassed many things: strengthening the five senses such as sight and hearing, bolstering physical capabilities like arm and leg strength, and fortifying defenses by increasing bone and muscle density.
But warriors are people who constantly train their bodies, who understand their own abilities, and who go to battle on that basis.
Those who received Yang Magic had to throw away their familiar selves and go to battle in a new body with heightened specs. As a result, many were defeated and killed without achieving much.
The next problem was the fact that the magnitude of Yang Magic's effect was heavily influenced by the caster's skill, the day's physical and mental condition, and other factors.
Even if a warrior who received Yang Magic managed to adapt to the enhanced body, there was no guarantee they would receive the same enhancement from the same caster the next day, or that it would produce the same effect.
Yang Magic could not promise a stable increase in combat strength. Worse, it carried the defect that one might become unable to perform even at one's normal level. This was why Yang Magic was despised.
Once upon a time, there was an emperor in the Volachia Empire who saw promise in the power of magic and schemed to create the ultimate fighting force. The thirty-first Emperor of the Volachia Empire, Mulka Volachia, plotted to use Yang Magic to forge strong soldiers into even stronger ones.
Taking into account the aforementioned shortcomings, he paired Yang Magic casters with elite soldiers and trained them until the enhanced state became their natural baseline, then sent them into battle.
The results were catastrophic. The elite soldiers, who were supposed to be enhanced, were cut down before the Yang Magic could even be applied. The casters' abilities were inconsistent, and the unit could not function as a cohesive force. They were pushed into the minority, and the Emperor's own life was put in danger.
In the end, the war was resolved when
Given this precedent, the value of Yang Magic—and by extension, magic in general—was further diminished in Volachia, and the idea that the path to becoming a superior fighting force lay in the perfection of martial arts only grew stronger.
This remains unchanged even today, to the point where Vincent Volachia, who employs every stratagem at his disposal, dismissed the deployment of Yang Magic in group combat as not even worth considering.
In practice, since a Yang Magic caster could only enhance one target at a time, the notion of an army requiring uniform performance from a large number of soldiers was nothing more than a fantasy.
Thus, Yin Magic lingered only as a harassment tool—capable of bestowing unnatural physical effects on enemies—and magic in the Volachia Empire went into decline. In other nations as well, Yang Magic became a disfavored school, rarely used for anything other than self-enhancement.
—But in everything, there are exceptions.
"Let's do this, you bastards—!!"
Taking a deep breath, the high-pitched voice of a boy rang out from the western hills overlooking the distant battlefield.
Centered on that boy, the warriors deployed in a line across the hilltop—several thousand strong—raised their banners one after another: flags representing the unity and purpose of the group.
The banner, that sacred symbol of fighting spirit that must never be lowered—held aloft beside the boy was a man covered in tattoos, and a man with the unremarkable bearing of a grey lizard-person but a piercing gaze helped support it.
Emblazoned upon the banner was a mark unmistakable even from a distance: the shape of a star.
It was neither a family crest nor a national emblem. It was simply a declaration—a kind of war proclamation—proving where their hearts stood. Nothing more.
The assembled group was diverse—and this was no exaggeration. Members of countless races had been gathered together.
Even in Volachia, where myriad races lived together on the same land, cross-species cooperation was rare. The sole exception that functioned as such a city was the Demon City
But this group was different.
They could be seen as merely sharing the same goal and walking the same path. But that alone would not bring them together under a flag that represented a shared purpose.
It was not that their goals were the same—their hearts were the same.
For this reason, this group—no, the Pleiades Battle Corps—could serve as the decisive hand.
Leading those banners and the comrades who had gathered, the black-haired boy—
"Strongest! Strongest!! Strongest!!"
The roar that rose in unison shook the heavens, and an overwhelming fighting spirit blazed across the battlefield.
"—We are INVINCIBLE!!"
"Invincible! Invincible!! Invincible!!"
Hia, Vaits, Idra, Gustav, Orthson, Grandpa Nur, Rex, Mirzak, Cashew, Moizo, Diloy, Criggin, Codrow, Fenmel, Josrow, and
They stamped their feet and the earth shook; the tremors called forth more tremors, bolstering their fighting spirit.
Deep in their chests—something burned.
It burned and burned and burned, and something so trustworthy, so dependable it was unbearable coursed through every fiber of their being.
Placing that burning, trustworthy, unbearable thing upon the tip of his tongue— "—Lady
"Bring it on! Bring it on!! BRING IT ON!!"
The group that had shouted in unison turned their eyes forward—all of them—to the battlefield below the hill.
And then— "—Let's go!"
△▼△▼△▼△ The sky, the ground, the world—the sensation of everything shaking was felt in an instant by every soul on the battlefield.
Of those who could not dismiss it as someone else's problem, the most affected were the Imperial soldiers tasked with defending the nearest point—the Fourth Vertex—those who would be clashing head-on with the flag-bearing group charging down from the hills.
"But—"
The one who steadied himself against the onslaught of morale was Guddu Dimalmo, one of the Empire's two generals, the "Tiger Hunter."
For a moment, he was shaken by their sudden appearance and the height of their morale, but the warriors of the Empire—his subordinates—were not so poorly trained as to be taken down by such projectile tactics.
Above all, Guddu and his subordinates were the least depleted force on the entire battlefield.
Though the Imperial Capital was besieged by a tremendous encirclement, the fierce assaults directed at the other vertices had barely borne any fruit at this Fourth Vertex.
This was indisputably the achievement of Orvalt Dunkelkenn, who had reigned as the guardian of this Fourth Vertex—a testament to the true capability of the "Wicked Old Man."
"The correct answer is to cut the enemy's legs out from under them before they even reach this point—whether it's water, weapons, or whatever they need to fight. That's the iron rule of war."
Those words of Orvalt's, explaining why the enemy's offensive here was so comparatively weak, carried a cruelty that would have chilled the spines of every soldier had he not been on their side.
But even Orvalt, if other vertices were in danger of being breached, would have had to rush to their aid in order to fulfill his duty as the capital's guardian.
Thus, the current Fourth Vertex was without the Empire's greatest fighting force: the "Nine Divine Generals."
Orvalt's parting gift—his superhuman shinobi, whom he had trained—had to be deployed against the dragon-riding squadron that had appeared from the western sky at the same time as the main force.
Without ranged weapons, the techniques of the shinobi were the only means to counter the flying dragon squadron.
And as for the horde charging in from the front— "—We shall face you with everything we have!"
With those words, Guddu Dimalmo hefted his twin golden clubs—the signature weapons that had earned him the epithet "Tiger Hunter," each weighing nearly a hundred kilograms—and glared down at the enemy before him.
Guddu's epithet dated back to when he was still the Third General. He had annihilated a group of tiger-people who had been wreaking havoc across the country, killed their commander—the Second General—and taken the head of the enemy general who stood behind them.
In the aftermath of that savage battle, the tiger claw marks that ran vertically from the top of Guddu's head to his abdomen—on a frame that exceeded two meters and was all sinew and muscle—remained as pale scars. From the story of that epic clash, he had come to be known as the "Tiger Hunter."
Even when his general had been slain and his army was on the verge of collapse, Guddu's fighting spirit had not broken.
If that was the case, then now—when he held the numerical advantage and had something at his back worth protecting—what reason was there to falter?
"We meet them head-on!!"
With a roar like cannon fire, Guddu's massive frame kicked off the earth and barreled toward the enemy mass.
His subordinates, following his lead, hefted their own weapons and charged into the star-flagged horde pressing in from the west.
"That is—"
Closing in on the moment of collision with his own feet, Guddu squinted and saw the vanguard of the enemy—a single red charger leading the thundering charge.
What caught his eye was not the man pulling the reins of the charger—the man was merely the one holding them. What deserved attention was the small figure riding the charger, held in the man's embrace.
A black-haired boy, holding a girl in his arm, stared straight at him with pitch-black eyes.
Neither rushing ahead nor straying from formation, the boy charged forward as though his position at the head was the most natural thing in the world. In that instant, a thought flickered through Guddu's mind.
A boy with black hair and black eyes—the "Black-Haired Crown Prince" rumored before the battle began— "—!"
He ground that half-formed thought to dust with his back teeth and focused on what needed to be done.
The rebels had exploited a ridiculous rumor and prepared numerous "Black-Haired Crown Princes," foolishly challenging the decisive battle at the Imperial Capital. For this reason, the generals tasked with defending the capital—and all the soldiers—had resolved themselves in their hearts.
It did not matter whether the black-haired child was real or not. There was only one Emperor they served.
"—You wretches who dare raise a hand against Emperor Vincent Volachia!!"
Raising both super-heavy golden clubs high, Guddu let out a roar as fierce as the tiger he had hunted and bore down on the boy charging at the forefront.
Head-on—the boy on the red charger and the rebels following close behind.
Guddu, the general himself, intended to sweep them all aside, driving his blow straight into the vanguard's face. The downward strike produced a tremendous crash that would have ruptured eardrums.
The impact resonated through Guddu's thick arms—and his eyes went wide.
He had meant to crush the black-haired boy along with the charger, but what his clubs had struck was neither the boy nor the horse—it was— "Protecting Schwartz is this one's primary duty at present."
An even larger frame than his own, with four thick, powerful arms, and a massive shield held in its hands—all of it absorbing Guddu's double strike head-on.
The physical capabilities of a multi-armed race—and even accounting for that, the spectacle was staggering enough to choke the words in Guddu's throat.
Into that momentary stalemate, the next blow slipped through— "And... smashing Schwartz's enemies to pieces... that's my job...!"
"—!!"
That voice—muffled yet courageous, brimming with fierce pride and confidence—landed a devastating blow to Guddu's torso and sent his colossal body hurtling through the air.
"Kh—" Guddu gasped as he looked. The one who had struck him was a man covered head to toe in tattoos, wielding a great hammer with both hands.
The man was trained, certainly. But with that build and amateurish form, how had he managed to—no. What he should have been questioning was not limited to what had happened to him alone.
"Ooooohh—!!"
The advance guard Guddu had led was blown away, and the clash between rebels and Imperial soldiers continued.
Even if Guddu himself had been decapitated, he had forged his subordinates with the pride that they would not lose their fighting spirit. It was precisely because of that pride that the scene before his eyes was so impossible to believe.
The Imperial soldiers had been utterly shattered—all at once, before they could even mount a proper resistance—crushed by the offensive power of the rebel horde.
This overwhelming spectacle unleashed in Guddu a fury greater than the one he had felt when a general's head was crushed before his very eyes— "—This is insane."
Even the battle-hardened general could only let escape a rasping breath, unable to comprehend the scene before him.
△▼△▼△▼△ —In everything, there are exceptions.
That exception was the Pleiades Battle Corps—the alarming group of amateurs who had shattered the formidable General Guddu Dimalmo and his elite warriors.
They had no refined techniques. They had no superior weapons or armor. They had no unshakable cause.
All they had was a powerful—truly powerful—will to stand together, and the personal vow never to back down, no matter what might come.
And it was precisely that which made the Pleiades Battle Corps an extraordinary group.
Do you remember the lengthy lecture on the shortcomings of Yang Magic?
Its effectiveness depended on the caster's skill and was inconsistent, often resulting in uneven performance among the troops—a folly that had branded a former emperor with the stigma of "the Great Defeat Emperor" and that even the wise Emperor Vincent Volachia had discarded at the planning stage.
But what if—hypothetically—something like this were possible?
What if you could bestow uniform enhancement upon every last one of several hundred or several thousand troops, and all of them were originally lacking in combat ability and skill, so they suffered no friction between their old selves and their new, stronger selves?
And what if you didn't need to have as many Yang Magic casters as you had soldiers? If such dream-like, miraculous conditions could be met—wouldn't it become possible?
It would be a fantasy that Vincent Volachia would snort at and dismiss out of hand.
A miracle of coincidence that could only exist in wartime, in this situation, in this crisis.
Only those who recognized Natsuki Subaru—no, "Natsuki Schwartz"—as their center, who truly considered him a comrade, and who truly believed in him as their own, could pull off such a feat.
The Yang Affinity enhancement placed on Subaru alone—shared with all of his comrades moving alongside him through the power of Cor Leonis.
Misusing the power of the "Little King," which was designed to share wounds and burdens, to distribute power too great for a single king among the companions who supported him.
And so, the Pleiades Battle Corps— "—I love you, everyone!!"
—took the thousands of "noncombatants" walking alongside Natsuki Subaru and transformed them into an invincible army, setting about ravaging every corner of this battlefield in the Imperial Capital siege.