"Ta-dah! This is—"
In that split second, the young man currently posing as Cain saw a bared Talwar manifest in Wolka’s right hand.
The youth had deactivated his Accessorize magic—the spell that allowed one to carry weapons as jewelry or trinkets. He was clearly attempting to seize the opening while Cain was busy retrieving an item from his waist pouch.
But Cain had already anticipated such a move.
What a fool. Deactivating the magic creates a delay. It’s slower than just drawing a blade normally.
It wasn't uncommon for mediocre adventurers to treat Accessorize as nothing more than a convenient utility for travel, turning every piece of gear they owned into an accessory. In Cain’s estimation, however, that was a blunder only an idiot would make. Because deactivation took one or two seconds, it inevitably left the user vulnerable in a sudden confrontation.
Indeed, Wolka was only just beginning to move his sword toward its scabbard, whereas Cain already had his target item gripped firmly in his right hand. No matter how one looked at it, Cain would activate his item long before the youth could draw and strike.
Cain had hoped to savor the moment a bit longer, but it couldn't be helped. The thought of allowing a counterattack and letting the boy get cocky was too irritating to bear. He moved to trigger the item in his hand—
And then, finally, a thought occurred to him. Wait... why is he sheathing his sword?
Immediately after deactivating Accessorize, the logical next step was to draw the blade. Yet, the youth before him was doing the exact opposite. He was sheathing it with a calm, final motion—as if to say the cutting had been finished a long time ago.
"Wh—?"
Cain’s right wrist tumbled away.
A thin, X-shaped line of blood began to seep across his chest, tracing a path from his left shoulder down to his right hip.
...Hm?
Wait, what?
/
He had deactivated Accessorize in an instant, drawn his blade, sliced through Cain’s wrist and torso in a single motion, and then cut him again with a backhanded return stroke before sheathing the weapon.
Aside from Lieselalte, no one present was capable of even perceiving that Wolka had performed this entire sequence in a tenth of a second, let alone understanding it.
"........Heh," Cain let out a confused, airy sound.
His understanding finally caught up with the reality that his wrist had been severed, and several drops of blood spurted out as if in delayed realization.
Wolka had initially wanted to take out Lloyd—who was sitting to Cain's right—with a single horizontal sweep. However, with the vision in his right eye gone and Lieselalte sitting directly to his right, the risk of such a wide swing was too high.
Still, it was a passing grade.
He could afford to be precise because he had a reliable Master with him to handle the rest.
The big man standing on the back of the carriage snapped out of his daze. His lips moved as he tried to roar—
"Vortex."
But the grand and haughty Great Mage was far faster. A surging shockwave erupted with Lieselalte at its center, blasting Cain, Lloyd, the big man, and even the carriage’s heavy canvas hood into the air. Everything in her way was cleared out in a single, devastating pulse.
Vortex was a fundamentally simple spell that released a shockwave of mana, typically used by mages to push back enemies who had gotten too close. Normally, it possessed only enough power to break an opponent's posture or make them flinch. But in Lieselalte’s hands, it transformed into a crushing offensive spell, striking with the weight of a massive iron golem.
"Guaaaaaagh!?"
The big man managed to react, but he couldn't nullify the impact. He was sent tumbling violently across the dirt. As for Cain and Lloyd, they couldn't even manage a scream; they were hurled through the air like discarded sticks, slamming into a tree several meters away before blacking out instantly.
Sensing a fresh wave of killing intent, Wolka acted. He grabbed Lieselalte’s shoulder and pulled her down toward him. As she let out a small "Mgh!" and fell over, he drew his sword toward the front of the carriage. A Silver Flash erupted, cutting down the driver—who had been about to leap toward Lieselalte—in a single, perfect horizontal stroke.
The man’s face twisted into an expression of utter incomprehension as he collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
Meanwhile, a quiet realization settled in Wolka’s heart. He had just struck an opponent who was technically outside his physical range. That sensation he had felt when he first gripped a sword with his prosthetic leg was real.
Wolka coolly cut off that train of thought. The battle had begun. The field was in motion. Until everyone’s safety was confirmed, he couldn't afford to waste mental resources on idle speculation.
As if sensing his resolve, Lieselalte also sprang into action.
Though her thoughts had briefly spiraled out of control due to the sudden physical contact with Wolka, she forced herself to reboot. She scanned the area: four targets remained. The big man was pushing himself up, his eyes burning with a vengeful fury. Closer to the carriage, three of his subordinates were struggling to process the situation, though their hands had reflexively gripped their weapons.
Honestly, Wolka! You’re always trying to do everything yourself...!
Lieselalte stood up. She struck the floorboards of the now-roofless carriage with her silver staff, which was capped with a moon and star. She stood tall, radiating authority.
"Leave it to me."
She gave her beloved disciple a gentle smile, determined not to let him carry the burden alone.
"It’s okay. I’ll handle the rest."
"Ha—you've got some nerve, little girl!"
The big man spat blood from his mouth and lunged forward with a roar. He utilized Strength reinforcement with a level of precision that suggested he was more than a mere Ruffian. His footwork was heavy and deliberate, capable of crushing anything in his path. He had likely been a seasoned mercenary or a high-ranking adventurer before falling into a life of crime.
She chanted the spell.
"—Artemis."
A pillar of light descended from the heavens.
There was no other way to describe the sheer power. An arrow of light as tall as a man slammed down, piercing straight through the man’s torso. Without losing a fraction of its momentum, it shattered the earth and drove itself deep into the ground.
Having lost all motor control, the man tumbled across the dirt. He tried to rise, but his body refused to obey. He tried to speak, but only blood spilled from his lips.
"————,"
He stared blankly into the distance.
In the moment before his consciousness was swallowed by darkness, he thought he saw the silhouette of a beautiful goddess drawing a bow like a crescent moon above the girl’s head.
"—Listen well, you Ruffians. I am not as merciful as Wolka."
A staggering amount of mana flooded the area. Lieselalte’s long silver hair shimmered with phosphorus, wavering in the magical wind. That radiance eventually reached her eyes. When her staff struck the ground again, the ripples spread with the clear chime of a bell, bringing a localized night upon the world.
Of course, it was merely an illusion cast upon those trapped within the reach of her mana.
"Choose your end: be pierced from the front where you stand, or be shot through the back as you run. The choice is yours."
The difference in power was so vast that the question of resistance was meaningless.
Three descending rays of light struck the remaining Ruffians simultaneously, ending the struggle.
" —Yo, ladies. Mind if I cut in?"
A few moments before the activation of Artemis, a man wearing a crude mantle of monster fur stepped onto the rear of the other carriage. Only Ruerie froze in fear. Atri, Yulitia, and Anze stared back at the man—who reeked of wet fur—without so much as a flinch.
"Now, don't go doing anything reckless. My buddies have the other carriage surrounded. ...Word is there’s a little brat and some guy with a bad leg inside."
Atri’s finger twitched. The emotion vanished from Yulitia’s eyes. Anze merely narrowed her eyes while keeping her polite smile.
Atri muttered softly.
"...So they really are taking hostages."
"That’s the long and short of it. But don't you worry. As long as you girls behave, the brat and the cripple won't have to suffer."
"Hmm."
There wasn't a trace of agitation or anxiety in Atri. She knew better than anyone just how powerful and reliable that "little brat" truly was.
Among the party members, Lieselalte was the one most frequently underestimated by thugs like this. Because she stood barely over 130 centimeters tall, she looked like a ten-year-old child playing dress-up as a witch.
However, the fate of those who insulted Lieselalte was always the same.
Because she—the grand and haughty Great Mage, Lieselalte—was the party’s primary attacker. She possessed a level of destructive power and annihilation capability that left even Atri in the dust.
As if on cue, a thunderous roar echoed from the other carriage. From Atri's position, the canopy blocked her view, but she felt the aftershock of mana and knew Lieselalte had unleashed a spell.
Simultaneously, a Telepathia message from Lieselalte reached them.
Atri, Yulitia, things are under control here. Go wild to your heart's—mgh!
What followed was a total collapse of her "Master" persona in a flurry of high-speed mental chatter:
Ah-wha-wha-wha-Wolka’s a-a-abs!! Wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-Wolka’s s-s-s-scent—sorry, never mind!
...What?
What in the world was that little girl doing over there? Atri decided she would need a full explanation once the fighting was over.
" —Huh? What was that?"
The man, spooked by the roar, leaned out to look. In that instant, Atri moved.
"—Boom."
Using her arms like springs, Atri launched herself from the wooden crate she had been sitting on. She vaulted out of the carriage and delivered a spinning kick to the man's face. Using the momentum of her descent, she swung her leg down and slammed him into the earth.
It was far more than a "boom." It was the cold, clinical sound of total structural failure.
It was a kick fueled by the highest level of Strength enhancement known to humanity, the pride of the Arsvalem Tribe. To take such a blow was to forfeit one’s life. The sound of his skull shattering coincided with the ground cracking beneath him. The impact sent the man’s body bouncing and spinning through the air three times before he finally landed, motionless.
Atri brushed her hair out of her eyes. Two seconds of silence followed.
"Y-You bitch!"
Another man standing a short distance away with a crossbow snapped out of his trance and took aim at Atri. Whether he was trying to intimidate her or actually seeking revenge for his comrade remained a mystery.
Zip—
Yulitia vaulted silently from the carriage, delivering a single flash as she blurred past him. It was a fluid, blindingly fast motion, as effortless as the wind scattering petals. Blood sprayed into the air. The man collapsed to his knees, only realizing he had been cut after his body failed him.
The Ruffians surrounding the carriage were frozen in place. Faced with a reality that had been overturned in a heartbeat, they were unable to decide on their next move.
"Leave this side to us."
"Yes."
Atri went left; Yulitia went right.
Atri deactivated her Accessorize magic, manifesting her massive halberd in her right hand. The thugs in front of her let out terrified cries and stumbled backward. The weapon was a masterpiece of silver, etched with elaborate, prestigious decorations—a stark contrast to the foreign girl holding it. It was a thing of immense beauty, and a wicked tool capable of butchering dragons.
She spun the heavy weapon—which an average man couldn't even lift—with a single hand and leveled it at them.
"So—shall we?"
They had dared to call Lieselalte a brat and threatened to use Wolka as a hostage. They clearly didn't value their lives.
Atri kicked off the ground with mechanical detachment and swung.
The swords the Ruffians raised in trembling defense were nothing more than dry twigs before Atri’s strength and her silver companion.
Feeling the pressure of the wind as Atri charged, Yulitia glanced at her own right hand gripping her sword.
Unlike with monsters, the sensation of cutting through human flesh always lingered unpleasantly. Even knowing her opponents were irredeemable villains, a part of her heart still felt a pang of sentimentality.
At first, she had worried this was a fatal weakness she needed to discard.
But she eventually realized it was the opposite—this was a vital sensation she had to protect.
About a year ago, she had asked Wolka if he was bothered by killing, and if her own hesitation made her naive.
Wolka had answered her then:
"...Even for me, I hate cutting people, no matter how many times I do it. I still see the faces of people I killed years ago in my dreams."
But your sword never wavers, Senpai.
Whether I hate it or not, and whether I hesitate or not, are two different things.
"There is no 'rightness' in killing a person, even if they are evil. ...That’s why you have to have belief."
You had to believe that the sword you swung was protecting someone. You needed the resolve to draw the blade for the sake of others—a conviction, or a belief.
As a young girl, Yulitia had simply been impressed by his firm stance. But looking back, his words carried a much darker weight.
Every youth in this kingdom was taught by the Chryscles Holy Church that evil was unforgivable. Evil was a sin against humanity, and sins required atonement through punishment. It was a standard moral education designed to keep the nation’s youth on the path of righteousness.
Yet Wolka didn't think killing was "right," even when it was to stop a monster in human skin.
Why? His words—"There is no rightness" and "You have to believe"—sounded as though he had never been given a choice.
It sounded as if, before he could even develop a sense of right and wrong, he had already been forced to kill, clinging to the idea of "protection" just to keep his sanity. Had Wolka been trapped in such a life since he was a child?
And if that were true, was that the source of the quiet disappointment he felt toward the world?
"Senpai..."
She realized she hadn't understood anything about him.
"Senpai........."
Was Wolka truly just a "seeker of the blade"?
Or was that just a mask he wore for their sake?
Had he walked through a darkness so deep he couldn't even share it with them?
"Sen-pai...!"
The emotions were becoming overwhelming. She wanted to understand him. She wanted to catch up to him. She wanted to support him, help him, be near him, and be his strength. she wanted to cherish him, to be needed by him, and to let him lean on her. She wanted to hold him, heal him, and take even a fraction of his suffering upon herself.
"Y-You...! Shut up and die!"
One of the Ruffians tried to cast a spell. Yulitia had already finished her swing. A blade of magical force tore through the air, slashing the man across the chest.
Yulitia watched him fall, then tightened her grip on her sword.
"Senpai... I will never, ever let you be alone..."
Atri was born for the battlefield, and Lieselalte carried non-human blood and had lived far longer than she appeared; neither of them felt a lingering sentimentality after taking a life.
The hesitation to kill. The sorrow for the fallen.
Yulitia was the only one who shared those feelings with Wolka.
If there was no rightness in killing, only the belief that it was necessary—then Yulitia was the only one who could truly stand by his side and understand the weight of those words.
So—I will be like you, Senpai.
" —I'm coming for you."
"............!!"
The Ruffians finally realized their mistake. A girl playing witch, a foreign dancer who looked like she belonged in a tavern, a lovely child who barely looked like an adventurer, and a one-eyed, one-legged swordsman. They had assumed this was a pampered party of weaklings protected by a broken man.
They had drawn the ultimate losing hand—but there was no one left to complain to.
From the moment Wolka drew his sword until the sounds of battle faded, less than thirty seconds had passed.