The moment he saw the girl standing amid the smoke, alarm bells went off in Flop's head.
Not actual alarm bells ringing through
To put it bluntly, Flop was not the kind of person who could fight—not like Medium.
He'd tried to train his body before but given up in short order, and when he'd attempted to take over his sister's role of tending his brother's wounds—only to realize he was causing more pain—he'd recognized it as the role his sister had chosen for herself, after careful thought.
So he had absolutely none of a warrior's instincts or a fighter's eye.
And yet— "That girl's bad news."
He swallowed hard as the girl pulled her feet free from the crater her impact had carved.
— Narrowing her golden pupils, the short-statured girl glared down at Flop and the others.
She looked two or three years older than Schult or Utakata, but the atmosphere she carried was no less dangerous than Medium's or Mizelda's—no, it was on par with something far more threatening.
Something close, in fact, to the menace of the "Nine Divine Generals" who had taken Mizelda's legs.
"...Red, can you create some kind of opening? I need to get the butler and Miss Utakata out of here—at the very least."
The person Flop whispered his request to was the only one among them who could serve as a fighting force: Heinkel.
Having slain the dragon and demonstrated his swordsmanship, he would be far more use as a shield than Flop's own body.
Ideally, Heinkel would be strong enough to defeat the girl. That would be the best outcome.
"—!"
"Red?"
Still on guard against the girl, Flop frowned at Heinkel's silence. He didn't want to take his eyes off the threat before him, but coordinating with Heinkel took priority. Steeling himself, Flop glanced over at the red-haired swordsman.
—Heinkel's eyes were wide open, his face pale, and beads of cold sweat streamed down his face.
"H-Heinkel, sir? Are you all right?"
"A-ah..."
Flop noticed Heinkel's distress almost at the same moment Schult did.
Schult called out to Heinkel with concern, his childish voice cutting through the air. At the boy's words, the red-haired swordsman's cheeks stiffened, and a voiceless sound escaped his throat.
Whether it meant he knew the girl's identity, Flop couldn't tell from the side. But regardless, one fact was abundantly clear.
And that was— "What's the matter with you? Are you scared?"
The narrowed eyes of the girl were fixed on Heinkel's feet—on feet that trembled so badly he could barely stand, as if even staying upright was beyond him.
What anyone could see was unmistakable fear and terror—and with it, despair.
"Heeey there! Miss, you look like someone we've never met before—would you mind hearing us out for just a moment?"
The instant he saw that despair in Heinkel, Flop called out loudly.
Heinkel and Schult both flinched, and the girl's suspicious gaze swung toward him. It wasn't as if her stare could kill—and yet, the sheer pressure behind it made that seem entirely possible.
But Flop steeled himself, softened his expression, spread his arms wide, and put on a smile.
"My name is
"...Collateral? Then tough luck."
"Oh my—'tough luck,' now that's not a phrase one hears often. There are plenty of things I'm short on, but luck isn't one of them—I'm rather proud of that. So how could I possibly be unlucky?"
"I was told to kill everyone in the city. That's right, the old man said so."
"Everyone... in the city."
The girl tilted her small chin upward and gestured at her surroundings. Flop forced a bitter smile, but inside he was anything but calm—he was panicking.
If the goal was the complete annihilation of the city's inhabitants, then where was there any room for negotiation?
If only he could talk to the "old man" who had given her orders.
"From what I heard, the old man in question said the city's destruction was a mistake. Why don't you ask your friends and companions who came with you?"
"No friends. No companions. Only kin and enemies among the dragonkind. —You're mocking a dragon. You must not know fear."
"Mocking you? Not at all! I'd like to get along, if anything! As a start, I'd like to know your name—wouldn't you agree?"
"Y-yes, that's right! I'd like to know your name too, ma'am! I'm Schult!"
When the girl's expression began to sour, Flop clapped his hands and looked to his allies for agreement. Schult seized on this, raising his hand and introducing himself with great enthusiasm.
Now that both Flop and Schult had given their introductions, the girl wrinkled her delicate brow.
"—Madeline Eschart. I am a dragon—one of the Nine Divine Generals."
"Ki—!"
At Madeline's calmly stated self-introduction, Heinkel was struck speechless.
His knees, which had already been trembling from facing her, worsened dramatically at the title that confirmed her power. It was a miracle he hadn't collapsed outright.
Flop couldn't laugh at him either. The opponent he'd considered as dangerous as a Nine Divine General was, in fact, a Nine Divine General.
And what's more— "Miss Utakata."
Quietly, Flop spoke the name of the one who had changed the situation.
When Flop called out, Utakata was already in motion, her eyes locked on Madeline. She had lowered the bow from her back, nocked an arrow, and taken aim at Madeline.
The distance between them was seven, eight meters—a range she would not miss.
That said, having the advantage didn't mean things were in their favor.
"That enemy, top of dragons' flying flock. Same as before-mee, same as now-terr. Beat that enemy, fight end-ru."
"R-really!?"
"Utakata is probably right—assuming there aren't any other Nine Divine Generals here besides her."
Flop glanced sideways, and Madeline did not interject.
Given her behavior up to this point, she was the type to react when something she considered wrong was said. If they said something clearly false, it would be more natural for her to respond.
In other words, this siege of the fortress city was being led by Madeline. If they took her down, Utakata's assessment that the dragons could be driven off was likely correct.
The only problem was that it seemed utterly impossible.
"You're a warrior. You're a warrior. You're... you don't run. A warrior."
"Eh... you mean me, ma'am?"
"That's right. You're a warrior too."
Schult's eyes went wide at being suddenly pointed at and so evaluated.
The Schult who had been surprised by Madeline watched as the girl pointed her small hand at Utakata, Flop, and Schult—all three of them—and pronounced them "warriors."
Then Madeline's finger turned to the last person, Heinkel— "You're not a warrior. You killed a dragon, but you're a coward."
"Gu—!"
"Draw your sword. The dragon will strike you—once for every drop of blood you spilled."
Saying this, Madeline took a slow step forward.
And then, stride by stride, paying no heed to Utakata's aimed arrow, she closed the distance toward Heinkel—the one who had slain the dragon.
"—Hit him!"
With that cry of determination, Utakata's arrow was loosed, aimed at Madeline's chest. But the arrow flew straight and true—only to be caught between two of Madeline's raised fingers.
Madeline didn't even look toward Utakata. Her gaze was locked straight on Heinkel.
"Red!"
"Heinkel, sir!"
Flop cried out as he sensed the danger, and Schult reached for Heinkel's arm to pull him back. But Schult's strength was far too little—Heinkel didn't budge.
Rather, Heinkel stared at the approaching Madeline, swallowing hard, and shook off Schult's grasping arm, pushing the boy away.
Schult tumbled to the ground, and Heinkel ground his back teeth.
"O-ohhh...!"
The hand gripping Heinkel's sword tensed with tremendous force. His cheeks flushed red as he clenched his teeth, trying to crush the trembling cowardice head-on through sheer force of will.
But Madeline did not stop, continuing to close the distance on Heinkel.
A girl so small compared to the dragons—impossibly tiny, really.
Against this approaching girl, Heinkel staked everything on a single strike— "—o"
A high-pitched sound rang out, and from Heinkel's trembling hand, his sword clattered to the ground.
At the very moment his finest technique should have been unleashed, his arm had failed to rise. He had dropped his sword.
And then— "As I thought. You're not a warrior."
Madeline's words, dripping with contempt, struck Heinkel's face alongside her fist.
The blow sent the tall, muscular swordsman staggering sideways, and Heinkel was sent flying with terrifying force. His entire body slammed into a stone building, cracking the wall in the shape of his silhouette.
A single thunderous punch was enough to roll Heinkel's eyes back.
It was a blow equal in impact and force to the repeated dragon-thrown boulders raining down on the city—but Madeline's fury was not yet spent.
"Coward."
Her voice dripped with undisguised contempt as Madeline reached behind her back. The clasp of a bag she carried came undone, and a moment later, the contents unfolded with a sharp sound.
It was a folding blade—sharp and massive, shaped like a pair of scissors opened wide. Flop had a memory of seeing similar weapons used in the hunting practices of nomadic peoples who roamed the great grasslands.
Known as a "wing blade," it was a throwing weapon that, in skilled hands, could sail dozens of meters through the air, spinning as it went, before returning to the thrower.
However, the one Madeline carried was as tall as she was, and it came with a handle for purposes other than throwing—a weapon of fearsome design.
She leveled it without mercy at Heinkel, who lay crumpled on the ground. If her bare fists had done that much damage, a blow with this weapon would leave nothing recognizable.
"Now hold on, Miss Madeline. I understand your anger. Your comrade was killed, and you must be burning with rage. But if you were attacked, you have to admit—retaliation isn't unreasonable from the attacker's side."
Flop bit his lip, steadied himself, and spoke to Madeline's back. Wing blade in hand, she didn't turn around. "Don't get the wrong idea," she responded.
"Dragons are the most magnificent creatures in all the world. If you people dare to bare your fangs at a dragon, then it's only natural that you be exterminated. And furthermore—"
"Furthermore?"
"I could never forgive something carried out by a worthless thing like this."
Madeline's golden eyes blazed with fury, and Flop understood the source of her irritation.
Of course, she was angry about the killing of her fellow dragons—but more than that, she was enraged by the fact that Heinkel, the one who had done it, had dropped his sword and been unable to fight.
Her comrade had been killed by someone she considered utterly beneath notice—and that was what truly incensed her.
It was an insult not only to Heinkel, but to the life of the dragon he had killed— "Uaah!"
In that instant, before Flop could move to stop Madeline, she was faster—kicking a stone from the ground at him. It struck Flop, who had started to move, and Utakata, who was nocking her next arrow, in the feet and arm respectively, hindering their actions.
In that moment, Madeline raised the wing blade, intent on crushing Heinkel beneath it.
But— "No—no, you mustn't—!"
Unlike the two who had been struck by the stone, Schult—who had been outside the danger zone—charged in with reckless abandon. The young boy spread both arms wide and threw himself between Madeline and Heinkel.
Schult's small body draped over Heinkel like the flimsiest of shields against a storm.
But seeing the boy's recklessness, Madeline was not kind enough to hold back.
"In the end, nobody leaves alive."
Madeline's eyes narrowed, and the wing blade descended toward Schult's head.
△▼△▼△▼△ "—
The slender woman who threw open the great doors and burst into the mansion called out.
At that familiar voice, Rem—who had been running back and forth across the hall—answered, "Yes!"
"Kuna! And Horry!"
"Oh, it's good you're safe, noh! Honestly, the whole city's in an uproar—terrible, noh!"
In front of Rem, eyes wide, the two figures approaching with the light and heavy footfalls of two different gaits were the pair of Shudrak warriors stationed in the city: Kuna and Horry.
Hearing their voices, Rem relaxed the corners of her eyes with a small measure of relief.
"I'm glad you're both safe. Are you injured?"
"We're fine for now, y'know. Just—"
"...Everyone's beaten to a pulp, noh."
Their voices dropping, the two surveyed the hall Rem had been rushing through.
Around them, citizens injured in the chaos that had erupted across the city were being brought in one after another, and volunteers were helping tend to their wounds. The mansion had become an impromptu field hospital.
For shallow wounds, stitches and bandages would suffice. But for serious, life-threatening injuries— "Because I have to be the one to answer..."
Rem bit her lip and clenched her fists.
Her right hand—the one not holding her staff—was already caked with blood that was not her own. Blood so thoroughly caked on that no amount of wiping could remove it.
As soon as Rem and Priscilla had observed the approaching flock of dragons from the mansion's bathhouse terrace, the distant black dots had become an imminent threat in the blink of an eye, and the assault on the city had begun.
Some dragons hurled boulders from the sky. Others snatched fleeing people from the ground and dropped them from great heights—cruel hunting, one and all.
Against either form of attack, citizens without the power to fight back were nothing but prey.
Those exposed to this devastation had been fleeing to this mansion—which served as both shelter and treatment center—and that was the reason for the current惨状 on the premises.
Rem had thought Priscilla would be furious about this, but— "I had originally seized this mansion to securely and clearly house valuable healing priests. I have also ordered Zikr and the others to send the wounded here."
"Oh, so that was your intention...!?"
"What? Did you truly believe I seized the mansion for the sake of the baths? The baths and the estate's size were my reasons."
—that was the exchange that had taken place. For the record.
In any case, Priscilla had consented to receiving the wounded in the mansion. It seemed she had informed Zikr, Mizelda, and the other key figures in the city as well.
"For some reason, she won't tell me what the important ones actually need me for...!"
Since she doubted she'd get a straight answer, Rem didn't press the issue.
More importantly, Rem had no time to worry about Priscilla's whims or mischief. Injured people were being carried in one after another, endlessly, each one demanding her attention.
"You two..."
"The chief—oh! That's wrong now, noh! The former chief, Mizelda, told us to come, noh!"
"When more people die, morale drops. Losing fighters who can actually fight is a problem too, so we're here to be your bodyguards, y'know. More than that..."
Kuna paused, then narrowed her sharp, elongated eyes. At her cutting presence, Rem tensed ever so slightly, and Kuna jerked her chin toward the mansion full of wounded.
"Where's the princess you're looking after? She's not lounging around in her room with all this commotion going on, is she?"
"If she were, she'd be the sleepiest sleeper ever, noh! Even I'd wake up with all this racket, noh!"
Questioned by two people with different but equally urgent standards, Rem shook her head.
True, Priscilla was imperious and self-centered to the extreme—it was understandable that they would worry about her flightiness.
"But for all that, Priscilla is surprisingly dependable."
The moment Rem said this about the unseen Priscilla— "—!!"
A piercing sound, like a violent wind tearing through the gap between buildings, cut through the mansion's front garden as something crashed down from directly above.
Kicking up a tremendous cloud of dust and carving through the lawn, it was the massive body of a winged dragon that had failed its landing. The dragon—its wingspan roughly four meters—landed with the gracelessness of something that had only just learned to fly.
But it was understandable.
The basic principles of landing that would normally be second nature from experience and instinct could not be fully employed when one's skull had been crushed.
And then, right beside the fallen dragon's corpse, a figure descended from the sky. The hem of her red dress fluttered in the wind, and in her hand she held a crimson holy sword. The beauty was none other than—Priscilla.
"You'd use me as a front-line cleaner. This one's going to cost you dearly, Rem."
"Thank you so much. I'll wash your hair with all the sincerity in my heart."
"You'd try to settle it with that? How bold. I'll allow it. I'm pleased."
Through the open doors, Priscilla responded with regal composure, accepting Rem's answer.
All this while, Priscilla had been using her extraordinary physical abilities to cut down dragons attacking the mansion, defeating them handily.
Even Kuna and Horry could not fully conceal their astonishment at witnessing this.
Rem felt a small, inexplicable swell of pride at their reaction. But when it came to Priscilla facing dragons, there was one significant point of concern.
The biggest factor was the beautiful red sword in her hand— "Priscilla, how is the Yang Blade holding up..."
"As you can see, the sun has gone dim. For now, this is a dull blade at best. However—"
Having revealed the Yang Blade's dysfunction, Priscilla glanced behind her.
In that instant, a dragon spread its wings and lunged at Priscilla's back, its jaws gaping wide with fangs bared. Into that gaping maw, Priscilla drove the now-dull Yang Blade without hesitation.
The fangs snapped. The tip of the Yang Blade pierced through the back of the dragon's throat, and with the force of the thrust, the dragon perished.
"Even without its edge, winged dragons are nothing to me."
With a flick of her sword, Priscilla hurled the dragon's massive corpse to the edge of the garden. Having dispatched the threat so effortlessly, she noticed Kuna and Horry standing beside Rem.
"Shudrak. You've come to protect Rem, I presume."
"Priscilla, these two are here to help the wounded—"
"Don't let pretty words cloud your judgment. What use is a wounded person on the battlefield? Who here holds the most value? If not me, then you."
"—!"
Sharply rebutted, Rem choked on her words. But as if confirming Priscilla's cold assessment, Kuna nodded and said, "That's right."
"Protecting Rem is our job, y'know. And Rem's job is..."
"To make as few people die as possible, noh!"
Kuna's quiet words were bolstered by Horry's bright ones.
Burned by their words and by Priscilla's gaze, Rem admonished herself deeply. To think she could pity herself for not being in an important position—that was yesterday's luxury.
She could no longer afford to indulge her own insecurities. Above all, this was what she herself had wished for.
"I will fight my battle. Kuna, Horry—I'm counting on you!"
"You got it."
"Leave it to us, noh!"
Rem's resolute answer was met with the reassuring smiles of the two warriors.
Grateful for their support, Rem turned to Priscilla. Priscilla had been defending the mansion while waiting for Rem's guards to arrive, but— "You're leaving?"
"It seems there are situations I cannot manage without my presence. Zikr might know how to make the most of limited forces, but against the enemy's main force, he'll fall short."
"The enemy's main force..."
"—Naturally, that would be a Nine Divine General."
At Priscilla's answer, Rem swallowed hard.
The existence of the Nine Divine Generals was a critical factor that could tip the balance of the empire's war. Subaru and Abel had journeyed to Chaos Flame to secure as many of them as possible.
And yet, for one of the Nine Divine Generals to attack this city— "Naturally, they must be allied with the other side as well. Abel's position grows ever more disadvantageous. He managed to build such a loose foothold—impressive, really."
"I don't know enough about Abel's work to comment on that. If he carried on like that, those around him must have had a hard time..."
Rem had mixed feelings about Subaru, but she was hardly impressed with Abel's demeanor either. His intelligence, foresight, and insider knowledge leading to high-handed behavior made him a difficult person for Rem, who had no memories to anchor herself to.
If he'd been at the top of a nation, there must have been many people around him. But the idea that all of them understood and willingly followed Abel's thinking seemed impossible.
That was why the rebellion had happened. But— "For something like that to be used as an excuse for atrocities like this...!"
Her eyes pleaded that this must not be allowed—that this structure built on such fragile foundations must not be allowed to stand.
At Rem's single, anguished cry, Priscilla seemed to think something, and let out a soft "Hmph." When Rem looked at her in surprise, Priscilla turned away as if the smile had never been there.
"This flock of dragons—'Dragon Wrangling' doesn't explain it. They must be the work of a general who grew in my absence. If what Serena said is true, it would be the one called the 'Dragon General.'"
"Supposedly, the one from the 'Nine'... she's somewhere in this city too..."
"—City Hall."
"—!"
"If the enemy isn't stupid, they'll target it. One could fly straight there from the sky. There's no reason to overlook a command post."
Speaking as if this were the most obvious thing in the world, Priscilla left a momentary blank in Rem's mind.
But when information flooded into that void, the urgency of the situation pierced her chest. And what truly panicked Rem was Priscilla's utterly nonchalant demeanor.
"A-attack on the command post?! That's terrible! Priscilla!"
"Don't be foolish. While she may be soft, Zikr is still a 'general' of the empire. He won't die uselessly. And I'm not so foolish as to keep only incapable people around me."
"That's... oh. I-if you mention incapable people, then what about Schult!"
Before Rem had begun bathing with Priscilla, the boy had left the mansion, and the thought of Schult out there made her anxious.
Schult was earnest but clumsy—he was even more helpless than the injured people who needed Rem's care.
And that Schult had been thrown into the heart of this chaos.
If only he'd met up with someone reliable—but if not— "Priscilla! Please, hurry—go quickly!"
"At the very least, you should be praying for my safety with all your heart. Besides, Schult won't die so easily."
"Wha...?"
Rem waved her hands in a panic, and Priscilla snorted softly, answering with an offhand air.
Not understanding the meaning behind Priscilla's words, Rem frowned. Naturally, Kuna and Horry wore the same blank expression, the same image of the young boy in their minds.
What could possibly make the boy whose greatest weapons were his cuteness and earnestness "not die so easily"?
Bathing in the confused looks from Rem and the others, Priscilla placed her hand on the mansion door, moving to distance them from the ongoing dragon assault— "—He won my favor with that very cuteness and earnestness, you see."
With that, she closed the mansion doors.
△▼△▼△▼△ A harsh, dull sound rang out, and Flop felt his soul shatter at the sense of his own powerlessness.
The tragedy of being unable to even reach out, his feet stopped by the pain of a stone.
He wanted to close his eyes, turn away, and not look at the inevitable outcome. But Flop refused to do so. He saw that as shirking responsibility for his helplessness.
He needed to see, at the very least, what he had done and what he had been unable to do—and what the result of that was.
That tiny resolve was the reason Flop did not look away.
And then— "...What's wrong with you?"
Having swung the wing blade downward, intending to cleave her prey in two with its razor edge— Madeline had undoubtedly intended to bisect both Heinkel, whom she despised, and Schult, who had tried to shield him. She hadn't stopped halfway or shown any sign of mercy.
And yet— "Ugh, uuuuugh...!"
Schult, draped over the fallen Heinkel, gritted his teeth and groaned.
His body had not been torn apart or crushed. But Madeline's strike had certainly caught the back of his head—it should have shattered it.
Flop had seen the blow land, and his ears had heard the dull thud of impact.
Only—it had been a dull thud. A muted, blunt sound.
"?"
Puzzled, Madeline tilted her head, comparing her weapon to the back of Schult's head. And then, without further hesitation, she brought the wing blade down on Schult again.
Once, twice, three times, four times—blow after blow, in rapid succession— "Stop it! Can't you see he's in pain?!"
"That's what's strange! I'm trying to kill him. Why won't he die?"
"That's... perhaps because some part of you doesn't want to kill a person, and your hands loosen their grip just before the weapon lands—guah!"
"Don't make a mockery of dragons!"
Frustrated and confused, Madeline's anger turned on Flop.
She kicked a stone larger than the one before, sending it hurtling into Flop's chest and launching him backward.
He felt his sternum creak, and Flop could no longer breathe properly.
But— "It—it hurts, it hurts so much, sir...!"
The fact was, Schult—who had been struck repeatedly by a razor-sharp blade—was groaning in pain but had not lost his life. This abnormal event finally pushed Madeline over the edge.
Madeline bared her teeth, and her hand seized Schult's pink hair, hauling his body upright.
"You—what on earth are you hiding...!"
"Uuuu—"
Dragged up by force, Schult let out a pained cry. But the reaction that overtook Madeline—her eyes blazing with fury—was eclipsed by something else entirely.
Madeline's golden eyes flew wide open, her lips trembling. And even Flop, his eyes stinging with tears of pain, saw the reason for her reaction.
The boy who had been hauled upright had undergone a dramatic change.
The change was— "His... eyes are burning."
Utakata, who had seen the same thing, put it simply—and hit the nail on the head.
Though the remark sounded meaningless at first glance, no other expression would do. Even from Flop's perspective, it was exactly as she said.
Incredibly, both of Schult's red eyes were lit with flickering flames.
"Wh-what... what..."
For his part, Schult seemed completely unaware of it, blinking in confusion at everyone's reactions. Then, glancing around, he peered at his own face reflected in the blade of the wing blade thrust before him.
The image would have been distorted in the curved blade, but the flames burning in those twin eyes were unmistakably visible.
"What—what is this?! Ah, it's hot! Ah... actually, it's not hot!"
Schult touched his face, marveling at how the flames had no heat.
It didn't seem like his face had been burned, but the cause was utterly baffling. But the confusion wasn't limited to Flop and the others—Madeline, who had been peering into Schult's face with rigid cheeks of shock, recognized something in those burning eyes.
And so she screamed out what she knew.
"You—you're a relative of that fox person?!"
"Fox..."
"Person?"
"—?"
At the shaken Madeline's outburst, the three who had no idea what she was talking about blinked in confusion.
They didn't even have time to register that Madeline's manner of speech had suddenly broken down. She was struck by violent shock and confusion, staring at Schult.
Then, as if the hand holding Schult had been released, the boy collapsed forward with a "Wha—!" And before him, Madeline kicked off the ground with tremendous force.
"—!"
In a single bound, Madeline's figure shot up into the sky above the street.
The suddenness and force of it made it seem to Flop as though she had simply vanished. But the ground where she'd pushed off caved in violently, and the building she had used as a launching platform crumbled.
Now airborne, Madeline raised the wing blade high above her head with both arms.
"Interfering with dragons again...! Disappear, all of you—!!"
Her voice of rejection rang out as the wing blade descended upon the earth with devastating force.
Like a dragon-thrown boulder, the mechanism was the same—but the force behind it was incomparably greater. And unlike an indiscriminate boulder, the blade was aimed squarely at bisecting Schult's body.
By what principle, Schult's body had become durable. But when he had been struck repeatedly, Schult had said it hurt—it wasn't as if he had become invulnerable.
Moreover, even if his body were tough, if a child cried out "It hurts"—!
"I have to go, or Medium will be angry!"
Enduring the ache in his chest, Flop instinctively rushed toward Schult.
He didn't know how much of a shield his body could be against that attack. But if he could reduce the force even slightly, and Schult survived—that would be more than enough.
Before he could even think this through, Flop exposed himself to the wing blade's threat— "—How troublesome."
For some reason, that voice—large though it was not—cut through clearly, and the violent flash of colliding impacts burned Flop's eyes.
"—!"
It was the radiance produced when a crimson holy sword struck the descending, rapidly spinning wing blade from the side.
Red light burst silently, and Flop felt the illusion of a gale washing over his entire body.
When it was over, what followed was the dull sound of flesh striking flesh.
"—!"
Looking up, Flop saw a figure glide diagonally with a pained groan, crashing into a building on the ground. It took him some time to realize that it was Madeline who had demolished the stone structure with her body.
And the one who had done it, landing before the stunned Flop and the others, was the crimson beauty— "Princess!"
"Lady Priscilla!!"
"Puu!"
"You understand, then. In a moment like this, the proper response is words of praise for me."
As she spoke, Priscilla calmly flicked the hem of her dress.
The city was under dragon assault, the Nine Divine Generals had taken the field—and yet her unchanging attitude and bearing were more reassuring than anything else.
The truth was, she had struck Madeline with a single blow and saved Flop and the others from mortal danger.
"Still, I didn't expect to find you held up in a place like this. Naturally, I assumed you would have headed for the city hall first."
"Ah, I was actually debating whether to go there, or to the mansion where the Princess and the lady are, or to the city hall where Roundhead is..."
"No. I mean the target of the one general who attacked the city."
Cutting Flop off with a chin tilt, Priscilla indicated Madeline's crash site.
Flop considered this for a moment, then let it go—deciding it wasn't important right now—and called out, "Princess."
"Thank you for saving us. I'm going to evacuate with the butler and Miss Utakata—could you tell me where we should head? I need to bring Red along too."
"Oh, so you can make decisions under pressure. Then head for the mansion. It'll be safer than the city hall, which will draw concentrated attacks. Also—"
Priscilla's gaze shifted past Flop, falling on Heinkel lying on the ground behind him. Her crimson eyes narrowed, and she exhaled softly.
"You may leave that one behind. If he's no use, then that's that."
"I'm afraid it's not that simple. Red will be a fighting asset when he wakes up, and more importantly—the boy you care about went to great lengths to protect him."
"—!"
When Flop said this, Priscilla's gaze turned to Schult.
At the critical moment, rescued by his lady's arrival, Schult's eyes were brimming with tears of relief. And those eyes were still burning—it was quite the spectacle, burning and weeping all at once.
But Schult, instead of voicing his own worry about the inexplicable phenomenon, gripped Heinkel's foot tightly and said: "I-I'll carry Heinkel, sir! Lady Priscilla..."
"There is something I must do. You understand that much, at least."
"Yes, ma'am! Something only Lady Priscilla can do—something amazing!"
How did Schult's earnest trust reach Priscilla?
Her expression unchanged, she simply nodded quietly, accepting his words. Then she turned her gaze toward the alleyway.
"Avoid the main road. Take the side streets between the tall buildings. Schult—you remember the route?"
"Yes, I do, ma'am! I took a walk every single day!"
"I commend you."
With those brief words, Priscilla acknowledged Schult's effort, then turned her back to them.
The message was clear: there was no more time to talk. Flop's own instincts told him that lingering was inadvisable.
By Priscilla's side, they would be safe from the dragons. But— "Butler, I need you to lead the way. I'll carry Red however I can. And Miss Utakata—I'd like you to keep watch on the road. You're used to it from hunting, right? I'm counting on you!"
"O-okay, ma'am! I'll do my best to guide you!"
"...Umm, got-it."
Utakata hesitated for a moment at the prospect of fleeing, but given a role, she nodded.
Roles assigned, the only thing left— "Princess! Thank you again for everything!"
"No thanks are needed. Simply praise me."
Without turning around, Priscilla answered Flop's gratitude. Flop smiled bitterly at her unyielding manner and hoisted Heinkel's body over his shoulder.
Heinkel's trained, tall frame was incredibly heavy, but the practice of carrying Medium during emergencies had paid off. He managed to get him over both shoulders like luggage and somehow stay mobile.
"We can't forget this either," Schult said, picking up Heinkel's dropped sword and gripping it tightly in his small hand.
With that, they exchanged nods, and Flop and the others dashed into the alley toward the mansion.
Before they had gotten far— "Lady Priscilla! Thank you so much for this fire too, sir!"
Eyes burning brightly, Schult's voice of gratitude reached out to Priscilla.
△▼△▼△▼△ —And so, after Schult and the others had gone noisily and frantically on their way.
"Schult, and the other was Flop, I think. To have useful people and someone caught in a predicament both present at the same time—that one has some considerable ill fortune to his name."
In the now-empty street, Priscilla murmured quietly.
That assessment was not about Schult, with fire in his eyes, nor Flop, who compensated for his weakness with quick thinking, nor Utakata, who carried ambitions beyond her station. It was directed at the last one—Heinkel.
He had survived a situation that should have been certain death. That was nothing but ill fortune.
Of course— "Whether one can truly call someone lucky for surviving when they should have died... that remains to be seen."
Not pity—though something close to it colored her words.
That sentiment dissolved into the wind of the battlefield, thick with the scent of blood, unheard by anyone, and vanished.
In that moment— "—!"
With a sharp crack, the ornament adorning Priscilla's orange hair shattered to pieces.
The jeweled hairpiece had not simply broken at a weak point—it had fractured all at once, crumbling into dust.
In an instant, Priscilla's long, gathered hair spread out, rippling as it cascaded down her back.
And then— "So you don't die either, I see."
A shadow emerged onto the street, accompanied by the sound of scattering debris.
Covered in dust, yet utterly unscathed—this figure, with two black horns sprouting from her head, prompted Priscilla to narrow her eyes.
"A dragon person. Where on earth did you dig up such an antique?"
"You mocking a dragon? You won't get off easy, you know."
Baring her teeth at Priscilla's words, Madeline narrowed her slit-pupiled, dragonlike eyes.
Feeling the demonic aura radiating from her small frame like a cold wind, Priscilla gently smoothed her loosened hair with her hand.
"Does it trouble you so much that I don't die?"
"I'm sure I crushed those inflated breasts of yours. Someone who won't die even with their heart crushed—there's no end to people like that."
"My heart... crushed, you say?"
Priscilla let out a breath at Madeline's words and glanced down at her own chest.
The dress, designed to accentuate her narrow waist, naturally emphasized her ample bust, and indeed Madeline's blow had connected with that proud chest.
Schult and the others probably hadn't seen it, but their clash midair had been an even exchange.
Just as Priscilla's blow had sent Madeline flying, Madeline's counter had struck Priscilla's chest with tremendous force.
If Priscilla appeared unharmed at this point, then— "It seems even the objects of this world are reluctant to see me vanish from it."
"—'Soul Marriage Art,' then."
The unexpected word from Madeline's lips caused Priscilla's brow to twitch.
Still glaring at Priscilla, Madeline pointed down the street—not at the buildings, but further beyond, far away, toward the southeast.
"Same as that fox person. You know each other?"
"I don't. If there's anything you recognize as connected to this, then you're the one who copied me. I am the original."
"—?"
"You don't understand?"
At the unfamiliar word, confusion crossed Madeline's face. And so, Priscilla decided to make things simple for her.
In other words— "Just as you cannot win against an opponent who makes you uneasy, you cannot win against me."
"—! You mocking a dragon?!"
"Don't be ridiculous. Why would I choose anyone? —I am above, and all else is below."
The moment those words and that smile left Priscilla, Madeline's fury exceeded its breaking point.
The dragon person roared—her face flushing red, her golden eyes blazing—her menace surging forward.
Facing her head-on, Priscilla glanced up at the sky.
Not at the sky itself—but at the sky which served as the sheath for the crimson holy sword, searching for the hilt within— "The sun's rest period has ended. This is going to be a bit troublesome."
△▼△▼△▼△ —Impact and destruction erupted in one corner of the fortress city, and would not end there.
"—!"
At first, the fierce battle that began on the city's southern side seemed to be a testament to the devastating power of the dragon disaster, as the densely packed buildings collapsed in chain reaction, sending plumes of smoke billowing into the air.
But what had reduced the fortress city's south to ruins was not the dragon disaster.
The dragons, of course, hurling boulders from on high and rampaging across the ground—this was disaster in its purest form.
People fled in terror of the falling rocks. The gliding dragons tore them apart with claws and fangs, producing a steady stream of corpses on the streets.
Some fought back. Some even loosed arrows and brought dragons down to the ground.
But the vast majority were exposed to the dragons' one-sided assault, left with nothing but cries for help.
The devastation wrought by the dragons was immense and immeasurable.
And yet, the fierce battle taking place was so destructive that even the dragons themselves were keeping their distance.
"Gyaaaah—!!"
A small figure leaped and bounded about, the massive wing blade clutched in both hands.
The curved blade sliced through wind and air resistance with clever precision—when thrown, it would return to its origin point while spinning. It was a weapon that, in the hands of a master, could decapitate targets from great distance. Now it was being hurled with ferocious force, mowing down everything in its path.
Its weight, edge, and destructive power were incomparable to the standard wing blade.
If a standard wing blade was roughly the size of a one-handed sword, this one was the size of two greatswords joined together—and its weight was greater still than that of ten greatswords melted down.
Forged from the same metal said to have been used in creating the ten holy swords, demon swords, and the like—extraordinary blades of special power that had once been brought into this world—this armament, far more vicious in appearance, displayed its power without reservation.
Each throw mowed down dozens of meters of area in a flat arc, devouring everything in its path—buildings, living creatures, everything consumed indiscriminately.
This devastating tactic, which could only be achieved through a dragon person's superhuman strength and a mentality that disregarded all collateral damage, was the reason the southern district of the fortress city had been reduced to rubble.
Those fighting dragons throughout the city, too preoccupied to look at the ground, hadn't noticed.
Of course, the thunderous roar and the tremors had reached them as well, but with eyes turned skyward and words being exchanged with those beside them, they had no attention to spare for that particular devastation.
And that was a blessing in disguise.
If they had witnessed that overwhelming destruction, they would have forgotten even the thin thread that kept them alive, and collapsed to their knees.
That was the magnitude of the rampaging dragon person's existence—a disaster of an entirely different nature from the dragon assault.
To be struck by two cataclysms simultaneously in a single city—nothing but a nightmare.
And when one of those cataclysms was brought about for the sole purpose of destroying a single person— "—!"
Priscilla danced and dodged, continuing to evade Madeline's relentless assault.
A dragon person's physical abilities were not to be underestimated, but Madeline's fighting style lacked finesse. She had never learned any martial arts—presumably because she considered humans inferior.
"Of course, I've never learned martial arts myself, either."
If Priscilla had any expertise, it was in having closely observed the movements of those who wielded swords. Beyond that, she had a perfect understanding of how her body worked and how it moved.
That, if anything, was the reason she could wield the Yang Blade with the skill of a master.
However, without the Yang Blade in the current moment, every one of Madeline's blows was a genuine threat.
"—!"
The sun's rest period had ended, and the sun had returned.
Wielding the Yang Blade came with certain conditions. The sun did not shine forever. Half its time was shared with the moon, and it required periods of rest to accumulate power.
If there was an eternal sun that shone without cease, that was Priscilla herself.
And yet— "The longer this takes, the deeper the wounds will become."
Priscilla was responding cautiously to Madeline's attacks. The inability to use the Yang Blade was one reason she couldn't press the offensive, but the dragon person's extraordinary vitality was another concern.
If she couldn't finish Madeline in a single blow, there was a high chance that Madeline's counterattack would reach Priscilla.
The even exchange they'd had initially couldn't be repeated over and over.
And if the decisive moment was delayed, the fortress city's destruction would only spread further.
Just as Madeline's rampaging destruction had devastated the south, dragon attacks were raining down elsewhere, and casualties continued to mount.
Moreover— "—!"
Catching the returning wing blade, Madeline planted both feet firmly on the ground, her fighting spirit undiminished. The dragon's rising aura carried on the wind, inspiring the dragons in the city sky.
For humans, this phenomenon would raise morale. But for a fierce species living in the wild, this instinct being ignited produced something closer to frenzied rage.
The dragons' ferocity would increase, and their attacks would multiply—to the point of being truly unstoppable.
Before that happened, she needed to change the situation. For that— "One more move."
Something momentous—one decisive action to shift the balance.
"—!"
Dodging Madeline's attack with a great leap, Priscilla landed amid the crumbling cityscape.
This fortress city—its sturdiness had been the pride and pillar of security for its citizens. Now, even after the disaster was repelled, reconstruction would not come easily.
But all of that was a problem for after the immediate crisis had been dealt with.
"This time... I'll land it!"
Madeline growled like a beast after her repeated, heavy-handed attacks were systematically evaded.
But by continuing to miss, she was gradually adjusting her tactics. If she were an enemy with little will to learn, that would be fine—but if not, she would grow even in the heat of battle.
Before Priscilla, who wanted to prevent any further growth, Madeline exhaled a white breath.
Dragon blood surged through her entire body, and the rise in temperature sent steam rising from her small frame.
Combined with the white breath, her silhouette looked as if shrouded in white smoke— "—No."
Something's wrong, Priscilla thought, closing one eye and studying Madeline intently.
The prolonged battle causing the dragon blood to activate—that was understandable. Madeline's emotional state as a dragon person inspiring the dragons' frenzy—that was also clear.
But in the climate of the Vollachian Empire, for her breath to fog white— And moreover— "Snow? That can't be possible."
Flickering at the edges of Priscilla's vision, white fragments drifted slowly downward.
They were increasing in number, if only gradually, descending upon the fortress city—the city whose protective structures were largely being lost.
This was beyond rare. One might call it a natural disaster unto itself.
In Vollachia, there were people who had never seen snow.
She had said that being struck by two cataclysms simultaneously was nothing but a nightmare.
But what if a third overlaid the first two?
Would that be a nightmare, or— "—That's enough."
A voice echoed across the ground where the cold gifts from the sky were slowly accumulating.
A beautiful yet piercing sound, like the ringing of a silver bell.
—If three catastrophes were to converge, would it be a nightmare?
—Or might it become the decisive move they needed?
"I'm in quite the hurry, but I can't let this go. —I'm reaaaally angry, you know."
The sound of footsteps rang out in the midst of the devastation.
The