"Poor tactics."
Standing by the window in the command room of the fortress city of
As a soldier of the Volachia Empire, there was no one who did not understand the importance of controlling the skies.
All the more reason she had been most anxious about the allocation of anti-air forces in this siege. The Shudrak people, formidable archers, had an exceptional number of opportunities to shine.
That she had so many of them watching the sky was precisely because she was that wary of the enemy's aerial forces.
And yet, the sporadically deployed corpse wyverns' attacks were hardly effective. As the "Scorching Duke" who commanded one of Volachia's premier wyvern squadrons, she found the enemy's approach almost insulting.
"If I were their commander, I would show them how to take a city far more efficiently."
"…We're in the middle of a decisive battle, so could you not say such terrifying things?"
Otto, the refined-looking man also stationed in the command room, interjected with a click of his tongue at her dissatisfaction with the enemy's deployment. Despite his soft appearance, he was a man of considerable nerve, and one Serina held in high regard — though he did have a tendency to refuse to let others take risks.
"He hogs all the danger for himself… Makes him a good subordinate, but a dull husband."
"That Count Draukloits likes you — hearing that makes me feel like my character is being questioned, so I have no objection to that assessment, but…"
"Hmm, I see. A scarred woman isn't your type, then?"
"Not to speak ill of myself, but I don't change my attitude based on whether someone is beautiful or not. Whether we can hold a meaningful conversation matters far more. And scar or not, a Countess is still lovely in my eyes."
"What are you two even talking about? Get a room, why don't you."
Otto answered with a look of exasperation at Serina, who was standing by the window with her arms crossed. Anastasia, the envoy from
Beyond the exasperated Anastasia, Berstetz was paying them no mind whatsoever, busy exchanging hurried words with messenger soldiers while studying a spread-out map.
The continuous stream of battlefield reports, the orders flying back and forth like bellowed oaths, the rapidly shifting situation, and the bursting of blood and life — the intoxicating smell of the battlefield.
"So this is what it means to be the Empire. Under your rule, one's instincts for war grow dull. I, of all people, had nearly forgotten that war lives right next door to daily life."
"Whatever you say about the Empire, the emperor who tried to rule in peace certainly wasn't rewarded for it."
"Merely sour grapes. If you were dissatisfied with my rule, you could have appealed through force. The moment you didn't, my words are nothing but idle chatter. To establish a reign that defies imperialism — the means to achieve that is, itself, imperialism. How sadly fitting: you are the very symbol of the Empire."
The man himself would not have wanted sympathy, but one could not help but feel it for his solitary path.
It was true that Vincent detested conflict, but to force his will upon others by crushing their objections — even that fell within the grasp of the "Decree of Iron Blood."
Precious things are born only through clashing and seizing.
Whether Volachia's "Decree of Iron Blood" actually proclaimed this or not, Serina interpreted it that way within herself and acknowledged that value. She understood that loving only what is born through such means was a fleeting thing, but it was simply her nature.
And so — "He didn't come, Barroy."
Gazing out at the vast, desolate sky, Serina murmured, as though clinging to one last shred of hope.
It had been long since the battle began, and both sides had sustained no small amount of casualties. The first spear had been cast, the vanguard engaged — the battle had moved past its opening stages. In other words, the "Magic Bullet Marksman," who adhered to the principle of settling battles with minimal sacrifice, was not flying in this sky.
Had he been here, Serina's heart would have been pierced through long ago.
"————"
Running her hand over the vertical scar on the left side of her face, Serina closed her eyes for several seconds.
What floated behind her eyelids was the scruffy little boy she had picked up in her youth. That boy had grown, lost his life, and ultimately risen as an undead to point his spear at her — "That last one was just my imagination."
Pallid skin, lifeless golden eyes — Serina had never once seen Barroy as an undead.
During the siege of the Imperial Capital, he had targeted Vincent in the Crystal Palace, and aboard the Chain Dragon Carriage, he had seized the soul-shattered Lamia. But in neither instance had Serina encountered Barroy.
And Barroy was not here in this fortress city either. That was reality.
"…You have every right to hate me."
Murmuring thus, Serina stood at the window, imagining the undead Barroy who never appeared. Standing there, she had no choice but to acknowledge an unexpected feeling within herself.
She had thought she wouldn't mind being killed by Barroy. That was why she had deliberately exposed herself at this window, waiting for a shot from the "Magic Bullet Marksman."
"Aren't you done being reckless by now?"
"————"
Serina turned to look at Anastasia, who was peering at her face from beside her with one eye closed.
Anastasia stared at Serina with her round, light-blue eyes. Those eyes seemed to see right through to her heart — much like Otto. Merchants, she had to admit, missed nothing.
That Flop and Medium had survived in a cutthroat world of commerce where one had to be sharper than a hawk's eye was nothing short of extraordinary luck.
And yet, her muddled thoughts could not disguise how deep the arrow had struck.
"If the enemy is going to target the commander first, then everyone in this command room is fair game. And you deliberately stood in the line of fire to draw them to yourself… Could you at least consult us before doing something like that?"
"My apologies. I reasoned that it would be easier to respond if the target was clearly defined, rather than leaving everyone in this room unsure of who might be shot next. With the brilliant minds gathered here, surely you could have handled the situation calmly even if my head had suddenly exploded?"
"Even if that were the case, we should be looking for ways to prevent the explosion! And neither Ana nor I can claim to be that calm — we're not Otto."
"Even I would freeze up if someone dropped dead right in front of me, you know!"
Otto raised his voice in protest at the unfair assessment, but Anastasia and her contracted spirit,
Serina agreed with the two of them and the spirit, but regardless, her ploy had been thwarted.
"Since Barroy is absent and the undead wyvern squad hasn't shown up either, the value of preserving my living wyvern squad has diminished. If the tide turns against us, I'll deploy them there. I'll reverse their disadvantage in the blink of an eye."
"Indeed. Committing forces piecemeal is foolish, but holding back your heavy hitters while being pushed back is a losing gamble. I agree — use them. However…"
"The fact that the enemy's wyvern squad is nowhere to be found is troubling as well."
Anastasia furrowed her delicate brows with concern, and Otto picked up where she left off. In response, Serina let out a small "Hmm," then: "The combination of an undead 'wyvern rider' and a dead wyvern is unlikely to function… That said, it would be unnatural to suggest it's completely impossible. In that case —"
"They're likely being used in some exceptional capacity, rather than in the conventional deployment of a wyvern squad."
"Exceptional… That means—"
She was just about to pursue the core of the discussion when — a messenger burst through the command room door with the force to shatter it.
Gasping for breath, the messenger screamed in a cracking voice, "Forgive the intrusion!" Berstetz, who had been studying the maps, looked up and said: "Precisely."
"Sir! The priority threat has been spotted! Enemy wyvern squad confirmed!"
"They're here."
Hearing the messenger's report, Serina's expression hardened with the certainty that what she feared had arrived. Without hesitation, she peered out the window, scanning the sky for enemy silhouettes.
But no enemy wyvern squad was visible in her field of vision. Behind the perplexed Serina, the messenger continued the report.
It was — "Enemy wyvern squad has crossed the great mountain behind the main fortress and is entering the airspace above the fortress! They are deploying enemy soldiers, and undead are infiltrating the city!"
△▼△▼△▼△
The Blessing of Zeal, to put it simply, meant that the more one's spirits and motivation rose, the more one's physical abilities would leap upward in response.
Medium was unaware of her own Blessing, and her brother Flop did not know that his sister was a Bearer either. However, she did have the sensation that when she pushed herself at a crucial moment and thought "I have to do my best!" power would well up within her, and when her brother told her "You can do it!" power would rise as well.
And so, even without knowing the specifics, the O'Connell siblings' relationship of cheering each other on happened to be the perfect arrangement — a rare case that was the secret to Medium and Flop's strength.
However, the difficult aspect of the Blessing of Zeal was precisely that one's abilities were swayed by one's mood. While a surge in spirits enhanced one's abilities, a downturn in mood caused those same abilities to wane — a double-edged sword.
In that sense, it was the ideal Blessing for the bright and positive Medium. But the biggest, most devastating sorrow of her life struck at precisely the wrong moment, turning that blessing against her.
Even Medium, who was the very embodiment of a positive attitude, had sunk into despair three times in her past.
The first was when
The second was when Barroy, also one of her family, died.
And the third was when she learned that Barroy, who should have been dead, had risen as an undead.
Both the first and second times, she had wept and wailed, taking days to recover.
The shock of the third time was no less devastating than either of the previous two. But tragically, she did not have days to spend crying.
So — did Medium participate in the operation with a swollen, tear-stained face, still mired in her despair?
Absolutely not.
Medium O'Connell had properly stopped crying.
It was not that the third tragic event hurt less than the first or second. It had been perhaps the greatest shock of her entire life — her chest, her head, and surely her heart had all been torn to shreds.
But Flop had not left her to wallow alone.
"Sister, I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner. With the dead rising one after another, I can't say the possibility of Barroy returning hadn't crossed my mind."
Flop had come to Medium's room — where she had sequestered herself since the Chain Dragon Carriage arrived at the fortress city — and spoken to her about the possibility of encountering the undead Barroy.
When she heard her brother's words, Medium thought, "As expected of my big brother!" but for once, she couldn't bring herself to say it aloud.
Behind her desire to blame her brother for not telling her, there was a self-loathing she normally never felt — frustration at herself for not having thought of it on her own.
She had never been good at thinking. That was why she always left that role entirely to Flop.
She had accepted that her job was to charge in headfirst instead, and she had been fine with that. And yet, now she was grieving over her own stupidity? That was strange.
No, that wasn't it.
"I love you, big brother."
"Ah, thank you for saying something so kind. I feel the same."
"I love Seri-nee, and I love Miles-nii too."
"Yes. I've never doubted that. Of course, I love them both as well."
"…I love Bar-nii too."
"Yeah."
Pressing her head into her knees and sniffling, Medium spoke haltingly. Flop knelt on one knee and listened with a gentle expression. That when she finally said Barroy's name, he simply gave a short nod of acknowledgment — that meant everything to her.
It meant everything, but it also stung.
"I loved him so much, yet I went out of my way not to think about the person I loved."
The possibility that Barroy, dead as he was, might rise as an undead.
Flop had said he couldn't bring himself to speak of it, but he had been thinking about it all along. Medium, on the other hand, hadn't thought about it at all.
Not because Medium was stupid, but because she had turned her face away from it.
She loved her family, and yet because she loved them, she had turned away — and so she hadn't noticed. And she had nearly died of regret over it before.
"When Miles-nii died, and then Bar-nii did that terrible thing and died too, I was so full of regret."
Back then, even if it meant being pushed away, even if it meant being a nuisance, she wished she had stayed by their side.
She wished she had stayed close, making noise, being annoying, carrying on like siblings — so that Barroy could never have formulated his plan to throw himself at Abel.
Because she didn't do that, Barroy had died.
Medium should have known.
After Miles died, Barroy would spiral into despair.
Because Barroy — "Medium, I can't go to the Imperial Capital. My injuries haven't fully healed, and I have no strength to fight. I'd only be a burden. But you're different."
"Big brother…"
"I think Barroy is in the Imperial Capital. With the enemy pushing us this far, our only chance of turning the tide is to defeat their leader — who should be in the Imperial Capital. And if His Excellency the Emperor goes there, and the enemy can read that…"
"Yeah, you're right."
Even without hearing everything, Medium understood what Flop was trying to say.
Barroy always chose the method that would bring a fight to the quickest resolution. Whether as a soldier or as one of the "Nine Divine Generals," that was fundamental to Barroy's character.
Barroy would target Abel. Therefore, he was in the Imperial Capital.
Therefore, if she went to the Imperial Capital, she would find him.
"You seem to have cheered up a bit."
"…As expected, big brother. You really do understand me."
"Ha ha ha! I've been Medium's big brother for a long time! Now then, as the brother who can't follow you to the Imperial Capital, let me do what I can for my little sister!"
"Do what?"
Medium wiped her face vigorously with her hands and tilted her head with reddened eyes. Seeing his sister like that, Flop placed his hands on his hips and grinned.
"Well, even if you want to go, there's no guarantee His Excellency the Emperor will agree. So let's figure out a proper line of persuasion to convince him. Don't worry. I know His Excellency the Emperor's weakness."
"That's amazing! As expected of big brother! What's Abel-chin's weakness?"
"It's simple: love."
Flop held up a single finger and declared with absolute confidence.
Had anyone other than Medium heard that, they would have tilted their heads in confusion or made strange faces, not understanding what he meant.
But Medium, no matter what Flop told her, broke into a grin and answered: "As expected of big brother! You're the best!"
△▼△▼△▼△ And so, Medium O'Connell earned the right to participate in the final battle at the Imperial Capital.
Looking back, it seemed miraculous that she had reached this point through a chain of coincidences piled upon coincidences.
It had started at the walled city of
"Thank you, Subaru-chin. Back then, for running into me and my big brother."
In the dragon carriage on the way to the Imperial Capital, Medium expressed her gratitude, and Subaru was taken aback.
Until then, Subaru had shown her nothing but his profile — his small frame, his intensely sharp eyes, and the face of someone thinking hard. But at those words, his eyes went wide and round.
Then, almost immediately, Subaru softened his expression — the same gentle face he wore toward Rem and Spica — and said: "What are you talking about, Medium-san? If anyone should be thanking anyone, it's me. The thought of what might have happened if I hadn't met you and Flop-san back there sends a chill down my spine."
He grinned bashfully, and with that, he had given Medium the chance to fulfill her selfish wish.
The showdown with the undead "Magic Bullet Marksman," Barroy Temegrif. For that purpose, he had even provided her with an impossibly reliable ally.
"Thank you, Roz-chin. For helping me out."
Feeling the wind tousle her hair, Medium spoke her words of gratitude up into the sky.
The one she addressed was the figure carrying her through the air — a companion of Subaru and
He responded to Medium's gratitude with a broad grin, saying, "No, no, no—"
"If anything, I should be the one thanking you for allowing me to accompany you. In truth, the opponent you wish to face is an exceedingly dangerous foe. I'd like to hold as many cards as possible."
"I'm not cards, I'm a girl."
"Oops. You're the Emilia type, aren't you—"
At Roswaal's small, wry laugh, Medium tilted her head in puzzlement.
Perhaps it meant something less heavy than it sounded. In fact, as a woman, the tall Medium was nearly the same height as the towering Roswaal. And yet, he was carrying her effortlessly.
Still, Roswaal's true strength lay not in his physical power but in his magical prowess — something proven by the fact that he was flying through the air while cradling Medium.
Medium had experienced flying before when she was with Serina, but that had always been on the back of a wyvern. Being carried through the air by a person was a first.
However — "The secret to flying through the sky is to trust the one who carries you and give yourself over to them completely!"
The wisdom she had once learned from a trusted "wyvern rider" sustained Medium in this moment.
Whether the one flying was a wyvern or Roswaal, the key to gaining wings was trust.
"That courage and know-how — I'd love for Otto-kun and Petra-kun, who never quite got the hang of flying, to hear it—"
"Oh really? Then Roz-chin, you should try getting along better with both of them!"
"Ah ha ha ha, that stings a little—"
At her straightforward suggestion, Roswaal's smile deepened as he gently shook his head.
Seeing that reaction, Medium sensed that Roswaal's laughter was not genuine — that he was laughing to deflect. He was probably someone who found it difficult to be close to others.
Medium had only recently learned that some people were like that. Abel was the same way.
She didn't understand why they deliberately kept their distance from others — no, she understood just a little now. It was to protect themselves from being hurt.
"But if you keep doing that forever, you'll end up regretting it."
"————"
"That's why I'm going to show both Roz-chin and Abel-chin how it's done."
The moment Medium said this, a tremendous roar echoed from the distance ahead of them.
To the east of Medium and Roswaal — where thick clouds were gathering one after another — there lurked the terrifying form of a "Dragon" powerful enough to make the world tremble.
As prearranged, the one who would fight the "Dragon" was Garfiel.
And while Garfiel held the "Dragon" in check, the others would make their move.
One such pair was Medium and Roswaal.
"————"
She took a deep breath, and let it out.
Once she started, there was no turning back. But that was fine.
"Roz-chin."
"Let's begin. There's nothing to be nervous about. I am the most powerful mage in the world, after all—"
The instant Roswaal said that, Medium felt every hair on her body stand on end.
It happened at the exact moment that Roswaal, unleashing supernatural magic far beyond Medium's imagination, sent flames soaring through the thick clouds blanketing the Imperial Capital to strike directly at the Crystal Palace from above.
While wielding such advanced sorcery, Roswaal simultaneously maintained the flight magic that carried Medium in his arms.
It was like painting with the right hand while composing with the left, singing poetry with the mouth while the eyes and brain deciphered an unknown language — an impossibly complex feat of multitasking.
But Medium, who could not fathom its true value, had no basis to praise it with words.
And so, Medium did not praise him with words — she showed it through her actions.
"————"
She stared intently into the far distance. High above the Crystal Palace at the heart of the Imperial Capital, brilliant red flames erupted in succession, and through the crimson fireballs blooming one after another, a wyvern soared into the upper sky.
It was impossibly far away, separated by many kilometers, small as a bean — yet to Medium, it was crystal clear. That was the face she longed to see, longed to talk to, longed to touch.
Medium O'Connell was a bearer of the Blessing of Zeal.
The Blessing of Zeal, which amplified one's abilities in proportion to one's rising spirits, was the ideal blessing for the bright and positive Medium.
And that blessing's power would reach its absolute peak — here, now, before the person she had wanted to meet more than anything else in the world.
What she wanted to do and what she needed to do were one and the same. She shattered the regrets of the past, clutched to her chest the mission her brother had entrusted to her, and together with her reliable ally, she charged toward that beloved face.
And so, from a vast distance, Medium called out to Barroy — who surely had seen her.
"I'm never letting you run off on your own again. You're going to talk to me properly, Bar-nii."
The next instant, a split-second after a light projectile was fired, she slashed it from the sky with her drawn barbarian blade.
"————"
The shockwave tore through her entire body, but Medium and Roswaal, who cradled her, were unharmed.
And so, across an immense distance, the most fierce aerial battle in the history of the Empire began.