Dark Territory, November 380 HE

The dark knight Lipia Zancale leaped off the back of the dragon before it even

came to a stop, and she took off at a sprint down the elevated walkway that

connected the landing platform to the Imperial Palace.

Immediately, her breath came up short, and she reached up to rip off the

helmet that covered her head and face. Her long blue-gray hair flew wild until

she tossed it behind her back with her other hand and was finally comfortable

enough to speed up. She wanted to get the heavy armor and cape off, too, but

she had no intention of giving those scheming consuls that skulked around the

palace even a glimpse at her bare skin.

As she raced down the curving walkway, the sight of the dark, looming palace

jutting through the red sky came into view between the pillars on the right side.

Obsidia Palace was easily the tallest object—aside from the hateful End

Mountains, of course—in the endlessly vast dark wasteland, carved out of a

rocky mountain over a period of a hundred years.

From its throne room on the top floor, one could supposedly see the faint

sight of the End Mountains on the far western horizon and the vast gate carved

into them. Of course, no one actually knew whether that was true or not.

The throne of the dark nation had been empty ever since the first emperor,

Vecta, the god of darkness, had descended into the void beneath the earth in

ancient times. The great doors to the top floor were locked with a chain that

had infinite life and would thus never open.

Lipia tore her eyes away from the top of the black castle and called out to the

ogre guards at the gate she was rapidly approaching.

"I am Zancale, eleventh knight! Open the gate!!"

The wolf-headed, human-bodied guards were mighty, but slow to think, and it

wasn't until just before Lipia reached the cast-iron gate that they finally began

to rotate the crank that opened it.

She waited until it had ponderously rumbled open with just enough space to

squeeze through sideways and slipped inside.

The castle welcomed Lipia on her first time back in three months with its

usual frosty ambience. The kobolds kept the hallways absolutely spotless with

their daily cleaning. Her boots pounded against the obsidian floor as she ran.

Eventually, two scantily clad women with bewitching proportions appeared

ahead of her, walking over so silently that they seemed to glide across the floor.

The large, pointed hats that rested atop their long hair identified them as dark

mages. Lipia kept running, intending to pass them without eye contact, but one

of the women called out in a loud, teasing voice: "My goodness, what rumbling!

Are the orcs stampeding nearby?"

The other one screamed with laughter. "Why, not at all. I recognize this

vibration: It's a giant!"

If it wasn't forbidden to draw your sword in the palace, I'd cut their tongues

out, Lipia thought, racing past with no more than a flare of her nostrils.

Human women born in the land of darkness typically joined the dark mages

guild after they graduated the training academy. It was a hedonistic group,

where one learned excess instead of discipline, and all it produced were people

like them, interested in nothing but their appearances.

And yet, they had a fierce rivalry with the women who chose to be knights.

When she was a child in school, there was one magician who was her worst

enemy, and the girl had put a horrible poison-bug curse on her. Lipia had gotten

her back by cutting off her beloved braided hair, however.

In the end, the people of this land were all idiots who refused to look ahead.

Organizations and individuals were constantly bickering. A land that only

knew how to separate good from bad through strength had no future.

For the moment, the Council of Ten maintained a fragile balance, but that

would not last long. If one of the ten lords who made up the council died in the

imminent war against the human land—what the orcs and goblins called the

Ium Nation—the balance would be lost, replaced by chaos and bloodshed once

more.

It was one of those ten who painted this picture of the future for Lipia—her

direct superior, the commander of the dark knights brigade, and her lover.

And it was at this moment that Lipia carried the top-secret information he'd

been waiting for. So she didn't have a single second to waste with the taunts of

stupid mages.

She rushed straight across the empty hall and up the great stairs, skipping two

at a time. She was in excellent shape, but even she was starting to run out of

breath when she reached the proper floor at last.

The Council of Ten that collectively ruled the entire Dark Territory consisted

of five humans, two goblins, an orc, an ogre, and a giant. After a hundred years

of internal strife, they had finally reached a treaty of sorts, with the official

understanding that none of the five races were above or below the others.

So the ten lords had their own private rooms on the eighteenth floor of

Obsidia Palace, close to the top. Lipia ran down the hallway, trying to moderate

the sound of her footsteps, turning to one door near the end and rapping on it

three times with the back of her hand.

"Come in," said a deep voice.

She glanced both ways, confirmed that no one was watching, then slipped

quickly through the door.

Inside the room, which was minimally decorated, the air was musky and

familiar. She went down on one knee and lowered her head.

"Knight Lipia Zancale, returning from travel."

"Very good. Be seated," said the deep voice. Conscious of the quickening of

her heartbeat, she looked up.

Sitting on one of the lounge chairs facing the round table was a man with his

legs raised and crossed—the dark knight commander, or general of darkness,

Vixur ul Shasta.

For a human, his size was tremendous. While they might not be similar in

breadth, his height on its own was comparable to an ogre's. His black hair was

cut short, and the whiskers around his mouth were well-groomed.

His simple hemp shirt rippled with muscles so burly, they threatened to pop

the buttons clean off, but there was no extra flesh around his waist whatsoever.

His body was perfect, especially for a man over forty, but few were aware that

it was the product of a vigorous daily training regimen that he'd continued

dutifully even after becoming the highest of knights.

Lipia sat on the sofa across from Shasta, fighting the urge to jump into the

arms of her lover now that they were finally together again after three long

months.

Shasta straightened up and gave one of the crystal glasses on the table to

Lipia before opening a bottle of aged wine.

"I snuck it out of the treasure repository yesterday, thinking I'd share it with

you," he said with a wink, pouring the fragrant deep-red liquid into the glass. He

always looked like such a scamp when he made faces like that. Just like the old

days.

"Th…thank you, my lord."

"How many times must I tell you not to do that when we are alone?"

"But I am still on duty."

Shasta shrugged in exasperation. They shared a quiet toast, and she downed

the rich wine in one gulp, feeling her exhausted life value begin to recover after

the long journey.

"And now," said the knight's commander quietly, his own glass empty and

expression sharp, "I must ask you about the nature of this emergency that you

sent a familiar to warn me of."

"Sir…"

Lipia couldn't help but glance back and forth before leaning over. Shasta was

a bold and open man but also a scrupulous one. The chamber was placed under

a number of defensive arts, such that even the "witch" who headed the dark

mages guild would not be able to listen in. Even still, the importance of the

secret information she was carrying forced her to speak in hushed tones.

Lipia stared into Shasta's dark eyes and said, "The supreme commander of the

Axiom Church in the human realm…is dead."

Instantly, the general of darkness's eyes flashed. He broke the silence with a

long, heavy sigh.

"If I were to ask if that was the truth…I would only be shaming you. I do not

doubt your information…it is just…That undying one…"

"Yes…I understand your feeling, my lord. I found it hard to believe and took a

full week to confirm the information. It is the truth. I sent an 'ear bug' into

Central Cathedral and heard it for myself."

"That was a reckless move. If they'd traced the art, you would have been

trapped in their city and torn to pieces."

"I know. But given that they could not even detect my art, I think the

information is accurate."

"…Hrm…" Shasta sipped from his second glass of wine, his menacing face

downcast. "When did it happen? What was the cause?"

"Roughly half a year ago…"

"Half a year. Yes, around that time, the security in the mountains was more

lax than usual."

"Correct. As for the cause of death…well, I find it hard to believe on its own,

but it was said to be defeat by sword in combat…"

"By sword? You mean someone cut the undying one in two?"

"It is not possible," Lipia replied, shaking her head. "I believe she must have

finally reached her natural end, despite her reputation. But in order to preserve

the holy reputation of their supreme pontifex, they must have spread that false

story instead…"

"Yes…I suspect you are correct. But still…Administrator, dead…"

Shasta closed his eyes, folded his arms, and leaned against the backrest. He

was silent for a long time, until his eyes snapped open again.

"It's an opportunity," he said simply.

Lipia held her breath, then asked hoarsely, "For what?"

"For peace, of course," he answered immediately.

It was a dangerous word to speak aloud in this castle. It instantly faded into

the air of the room.

"Do you think…it is possible, my lord?" Lipia whispered.

Shasta concentrated on the red liquid inside his glass and slowly but firmly

nodded. "Whether it is possible or not, it must be achieved at all costs."

He downed the wine and continued. "The life of the great gate that has

separated the lands of humanity and darkness since the time of creation is

finally running out. The armies of the five races of darkness are like a kettle

about to boil over just before the invasion of the Human Empire with its

bounties of sun and earth. At the last Council of Ten, there was great debate

about how to divide the lands, riches, and slaves of that realm. Sometimes it is

hard to fully fathom their greed," Shasta said bluntly. His tone made Lipia tense.

Unlike the Human Empire, where a great text called the Taboo Index reigned

supreme, the Dark Territory had just one rule: Take what you want with

strength.

That meant that to the nine lords who had nearly limitless greed, which drove

them to the very heights of success, Shasta, with his thoughts of peace with the

human realm, was an outsider, a heretic.

But it was because of those strange, alien thoughts that Lipia felt herself so

drawn to him. And unlike the women who served the other lords, Lipia had

never been taken by force. Shasta had knelt and offered her flowers. He had

wooed her with sincere words and feelings.

Shasta had no idea that his lover was lost in reminiscence. He continued, his

voice deep and heavy, "But…the lords overlook the humans. Particularly the

Integrity Knights, who have protected their borders for three hundred years."

Lipia nodded, feeling her mind sharpen at the mention of that name.

"Indeed…They are all fearsome opponents."

"Warriors worth a thousand men, as the saying goes. Countless members of

the dark knights brigade have been slain by them, but never has the reverse

been true. Their combat is shrewd and precise, and the divine weapons they

utilize are peerless in strength…Even I have never fully bested one in combat,

although I have been close on multiple occasions. And I have had to retreat

many, many times."

"But…that is only because of their bizarre abilities to shoot fire and light and

such from their swords…"

"Perfect Weapon Control arts, you mean. I had the knighthood's articians

study them for a long time, but we never reached a full understanding. You

would need more than a hundred goblin soldiers to counteract even a single

one of those attacks."

"But still, our military numbers are over fifty thousand. And there are only

about thirty of those Integrity Knights. Couldn't we win with sheer numbers…?"

Lipia wondered.

The edges of Shasta's manicured mustache curled sardonically. "Warriors

worth a thousand, as I said. We would lose thirty thousand of our number by

that calculation."

"You don't think…they would fell so many?"

"Perhaps not. While I don't like it as a tactical choice, if we stacked our

knights, ogres, and giants along the front row and hurled dark arts remotely

from the rear, even the Integrity Knights would eventually fall. But I can't

imagine how much damage we would suffer to slay even a single knight. It

might not actually be thirty thousand, but I would believe half of that number."

He set the crystal glass down loudly on the table. Lipia made to pour another

cup, but he motioned her off, then leaned his broad back against the lounge

chair.

"…And the result of that, naturally, would be unequal distribution of power

among the five tribes of darkness. The Council of Ten would be meaningless,

and our equal treaty would be a shell of its former self. The Age of Blood and

Iron from a hundred years past would return. In fact, this would be worse. In

this case, the gates to the sea of milk and honey that is the Human Empire

would be thrown open. A hundred years would be too short to end the fighting

over control of that prize…"

This was the worst possible future: the vision that Shasta had feared and

explained to Lipia time and time again. And none of the other lords saw it as the

worst option—in fact, they seemed to welcome it.

Lipia looked down at the full-body armor that she'd been given in exchange

for her knighthood vows. Its scuffed but polished black surface shone in the

light. She had been a small child, and during the Age of Blood and Iron, she

would never have been made a knight. She'd have been sold to slavers or

dumped in the wilderness outside town, where her short life would have come

to a miserable end.

But thanks to the peace treaty (such as it was), she'd spent her childhood in

the youth training academy rather than in a slave market, and it was there that

her late-blooming skill with the sword had been discovered, and she'd reached

what was about the highest status that a human woman could possibly hope to

gain.

Since becoming a knight, she had spent nearly her entire monthly salary on

gathering abandoned children in the outer regions where the slavers still

reigned, running something like a nursery for them until they were old enough

to enter school.

She hadn't told Shasta about this, much less her other comrades. It was

because even she couldn't exactly explain why she was doing it.

It was just…a feeling that made its home in a corner of her mind—a sensation

that something about this land, where the mighty were meant to seize what

they wanted, was wrong. Unlike Shasta, she wasn't knowledgeable enough to

put her doubts into clear, concise words, but she most certainly felt that there

was a better way for this land—and for the entire Underworld itself—to be.

Lipia had a vague sense in her mind that this new world she envisioned

probably existed far into the future of the peace that Shasta sought. And of

course, as a woman, she wanted to help the man she loved.

But…

"But how do you intend to convince the other lords? And…would the Integrity

Knights even entertain a negotiation for peace?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"…Mmm…" Shasta grunted, closing his eyes and rubbing his smooth

mustache. When he spoke, his voice was laced with bitterness. "I sense that

there is ground to be made with the Integrity Knights. If their pontifex is dead,

then it would be old Bercouli calling the shots over there. He's a shrewd fellow,

but he can be reasoned with. No…the problem is with the Council of Ten. This

might seem to be a contradiction, but…" His eyes lifted, gazing into space with a

fierce glint. "They might need to be killed. At least four of them."

Lipia gasped, and against her better judgment, she asked, "When you say

four…you mean both goblin leaders, the orc leader, and…?"

"The head of the dark mages guild. She is hoping to find the secret to

Administrator's longevity and one day rise to becoming empress. She will never

accept a pathway to peace."

"B-but—!" Lipia protested. "It's too dangerous, my lord! I'm sure the goblins

and orc are no match for you…but I cannot imagine what sort of wicked tricks

the dark mage will use against you!"

She stopped there, but Shasta did not reply at first. He held his silence for a

long while, and when he finally did speak, it was not what she'd expected to

hear.

"Say, Lipia. How long has it been since you came to me?"

"Huh? Er…w-well…it was when I was twenty-one…so four years."

"That long already? I'm sorry for leaving things so…uncertain for all these

years. What do you think…? Is it time, at last?" His eyes wandered, and he

scratched his head. At last, the head of the dark knights muttered brusquely,

"Will you…officially be my wife? I'm sorry I can't be younger."

"M…my lord…"

Lipia's eyes bulged—and she felt something hot blooming around her heart,

growing until she was ready to leap over the table and into the arms of her

beloved on the other side— Beyond the thick, heavy door, a tense, high-pitched

voice cried, "Emergency! It is an emergency! Oh, this is a disaster! Come quick,

my fellows, come quick, come quick!!"

The voice was vaguely familiar to her. It belonged to the head of the

commerce guild, one of the ten lords. Lipia remembered a large, broad fellow

who looked the picture of wealth—only now his voice was shrieking and

panicked, unbefitting of that mental picture.

"It is an emergency!! The ch-chains! That seal the imperial chamber! They

tremble!!"

2

As Gabriel Miller made his appearance in the imperial chamber as Emperor

Vecta, he viewed the artificial fluctlights prostrating themselves before him with

a kind of wonder.

They were light quantum information, trapped inside a lightcube two inches

to a side. But in this world, they were real humans with intelligence and a soul

—even if half of the ten arrayed before him were monsters with grotesque

appearances.

These ten generals, who styled themselves as feudal lords, the knights and

mages behind them, and the army of fifty thousand stationed outside the castle

were all units given to Gabriel for his use in battle. He had to use these pawns

as he saw fit to vanquish the defenses of the Human Empire and capture Alice.

But unlike a real-time strategy (RTS) game in the regular world, these units

could not be moved about with a mouse and keyboard. He had to lead them

with speech and character and give them their orders.

Gabriel stood up from the throne without a word, took several steps, and

glanced at a mirror set into the wall behind him. He saw himself dressed in a

truly hideous outfit.

The features of his face and the nearly white blond hair were Gabriel's as they

existed in real life. But now he wore a crown of black metal with inlaid red

jewels, a leather shirt, and trousers similar to black suede, as well as a luxurious

pelt gown, also pure black. A slender, faintly glowing longsword hung from his

waist, and there was fine silver stitching on his boots and gloves. On top of all

that, a long cape the color of blood hung from his back.

To the right, about a step lower than the throne, there was a knight with his

hands casually pressed behind his head, looking around.

That was Vassago Casals, who had logged in at the same time as Gabriel,

dressed in an amethyst-purple suit of armor. He'd warned the man not to get

carried away and do anything until they got a handle on the situation, but

Vassago's fingers were tapping away at the back of his head, expressing his

desire to voice his feelings about such an incredible experience in his usual

slang.

Gabriel shook his head and looked back at his reflection. For someone who

was so used to wearing tailor-made suits, he looked rather uncomfortable now.

But in the Underworld, he was not the CTO of a private military contractor.

He was the emperor who ruled over the vast Dark Territory.

And he was a god.

Gabriel closed his eyes, inhaled, and let the breath out.

Somewhere in his mind, the switch flipped to take his acting role from the

tough, calm commanding officer to a merciless emperor instead.

His lids rose, and Gabriel—the god of darkness, Vecta—swept his crimson

cape aside to view the ten generals imperiously. With a voice devoid of all

humanity, he intoned, "Raise your heads and name yourselves. Starting with

you at the end."

A plump middle-aged man, who practically had his face rubbing against the

floor, bounded upward with surprising agility and spoke in fluent Japanese.

"Y-yes, Your Majesty! I am the head of the commerce guild, and my name is

Rengil Gila Scobo!"

He lowered his head again, and then a figure like a small mountain next to

him budged.

At a full height, this creature was at least twelve feet tall, his torso

crisscrossed with gleaming chains and a string of animal pelts around his waist.

He lifted his abnormally long-bridged nose and said, in a bass that practically

shook the ground, "Chief of the giants, Sigurosig."

As Gabriel chewed on the fact that even this monster had intelligence and a

soul, the third figure spoke in an unpleasant rasp.

"Head of the assassins guild…Fu Za…"

Next to the striking giant, this slight figure, frail and unassuming in a hooded

robe, was of indeterminate age and gender. Gabriel considered ordering this

one to show their face but then figured it was probably the assassin's code

never to give away appearances.

Instead, he focused on the next general—and had to keep himself from

scowling.

A creature that seemed designed to define the word hideous was plopped

down on the steps; its legs were too short for it to properly kneel. Its belly was

round, bloated, and shiny, and around a neck that threatened to sink into its

shoulders hung a string of what looked like small mammal skulls.

The head atop its body was about seven parts pig to three parts human. It had

a flat, jutting nose, a large mouth exposing tusks, and beady eyes, but they

gleamed with cruel intelligence that just made it that much more grotesque.

"Chief of the orcs, Lilpilin."

The orc's voice was high enough in pitch that Gabriel couldn't be sure

whether it was male or female, but he did not find himself curious in the

slightest. An orc was bound to be an inferior unit. It would have no use but as a

sacrifice.

Next to lift his head, in one smooth motion, was a young man barely more

than a boy. His reddish-gold curls and tanned skin featured nothing more than a

leather belt on his upper half. Below, he wore tight-fitting short pants and

sandals. On his hands were a pair of gloves with square metal studs.

"Tenth champion of the pugilists guild, Iskahn!!" the youngster shouted.

Gabriel found this a bit confusing. By pugilist, did he mean boxing? Was it

possible to be a good soldier if unarmed?

His line of thought was interrupted by a sudden growling.

It was coming from another demi-human of considerable size, if not as large

as the giant. This one's upper half was almost entirely covered in long furs. He

only realized that they were not clothing but his actual fur when he noticed that

the creature's head was that of a beast itself.

It looked like a wolf: extended snout, rows of sharp fangs like saws, and

triangular ears. Its long tongue hung from its mouth and formed words that

were hard to make out.

"Grrr…Ogre…chief…Furgr…rrr…"

Gabriel wasn't entirely sure whether that was the ogre's name or just more

growling, so he merely nodded and looked to the next person. He was greeted

by an awful, screeching voice.

"This one is Hagashi, chief of the mountain goblins! Your Majesty, I beg you to

give the honor of first spear to the brave warriors of my clan!!"

It was a smaller humanoid, with a bald, monkey-like head sprouting long, thin

ears from the sides. It was shorter than the giant, the orc, the ogre, and even

the humans.

According to what Critter had said before the dive, there was only one law in

the Dark Territory: Those with the power rule. So what was it about the goblin,

which looked so weak, that gave it equal status with the other races?

They'd clearly be inferior soldiers even to the orcs, but this interested Gabriel.

He stared at the mountain goblin's face and came away with his answer. The

ugly creature's tiny eyes were swirling with ferocious greed and desire.

No sooner had the mountain-goblin chief finished his greeting than the leader

next to him, a similar humanoid with a different color of skin, screeched,

"Absolutely not! We will be ten times more useful to you than these bunglers! I

am Kubiri, chief of the flatland goblins!"

"What did you call me, you slug slurper?! All that humidity has waterlogged

your tiny brain!!"

"And being closer to the sun has dried out yours into a husk!!"

Before the two goblins could sink any further into argument, there was a

snapping sound and a burst of blue sparks, sending the goblin chiefs screaming

out of the way.

"You are in the presence of the emperor, you two," said a sultry voice

belonging to a young woman wearing a revealing outfit. Her outstretched hand

had produced the sparks with a snap as easily as if her fingers were the flint of a

lighter.

She got up slowly, leaning over to accentuate her full figure and bewitching

beauty, and gave an affected salute. Vassago whistled softly, and Gabriel could

not entirely blame him.

Her light-brown skin shone as if oiled, covered by just the bare minimum of

black enameled leather. Her boots had high heels like needles. On her back was

a fur cloak shining black and silver, over which her voluminous platinum-blond

hair hung nearly to her waist.

The woman's eye shadow and lipstick were brilliantly bright blue, and her

eyes were nearly the same shade, narrowed coquettishly. "I am the chancellor

of the dark mages guild, Dee Eye Ell. My three thousand mages—and my body

and mind—belong wholly to you."

It was quite an act of seduction, but Gabriel, who was never controlled by

sexual urges, merely nodded in response. The witch named Dee blinked and

seemed to consider saying something else but decided better of it and bowed

again before kneeling.

This was a wise decision, Gabriel thought. Now there was only one general

unit left to be introduced.

This man, who merely bowed in silence, was rather tall for a human and

looked to be in the prime of his life. His full black armor glinted softly with

countless scrapes and cuts. Faint scars were also visible on what Gabriel could

see of his forehead and nose.

Without lifting his face, the man spoke in a rich baritone. "Commander of the

dark knights brigade, Vixur ul Shasta. Before I pledge my sword…I have a

question for Your Majesty."

When he looked up at last, Gabriel saw that his features were as hard as

those of the few "true soldiers" he'd met over the course of his life.

Unlike the other nine generals, this knight named Shasta dared to stare at him

with a fierce determination of some kind. Even deeper, he asked, "What desire

brings you back to the throne at this time?"

Ah, I see. Yes, they are indeed more than just simple programs. I ought to keep

this in mind at all times, Gabriel told himself. He gave his answer coldly, playing

the role of the merciless emperor.

"Blood and fear. Flames and destruction. Death and screams."

When they heard his voice, hard like metal, the generals' expressions tensed.

Gabriel looked at each of them in turn, then swept aside his fur cape to raise

his arm to the western sky. Words of false conquest fell from his mouth, easy

and automatic.

"…The great gate that protects the land to the west, overflowing with the

power of the gods who exiled me from their celestial realm, will fall very soon. I

have returned…to make my might known to all corners of the land!"

Critter had given him as much information as possible about the so-called

final stress test that was approaching in a week of in-simulation time. He

explained the topic in the same adopted, grandiose tone.

"The moment the gate falls, the lands of man will belong to the people of the

darkness! My only desire is for the priestess of the gods who resides within that

distant land! You have my blessing to kill and steal from as many other humans

as you desire! This is the moment that all the tribes of the darkness have longed

for—the promised time!!"

There was a brief, ringing silence.

Then a fierce, high-pitched bellow broke through it.

"Giieee!! Kill them! Kill all the white Iums!!" screeched the chief of the orcs,

its beady eyes full of greed and resentment. The goblin chiefs picked up the cry

next, thrusting their stringy arms into the air.

"Hooooh!! Battle!! Battle!!"

"Uraaaaa!! Battle, battle, battle!!"

The war cries spread to the other generals—and from there, to the officers

lined up behind them. The black-robed figures of the assassins guild twirled and

swayed like the tree branches their limbs resembled, and the witches of the

dark mages guild cheered and shot sparks of all different colors.

The vast throne chamber was full of the primitive roar of war and blood.

And then Gabriel noticed that only the knight named Shasta remained

kneeling and perfectly still.

It was impossible to tell from the statuesque figure whether this was simple

military decorum or the manifestation of some other emotion.

"Damn, Bro, I didn't know you could pull that off! Why didn't you decide to

become an actor instead?" Vassago said with a grin as he tossed the bottle of

wine.

Gabriel snorted. "I merely met the demands of the situation. You ought to

learn how to give a proper speech when the time calls for it. You're in a position

one step higher than that lot, remember."

He popped the cork out of the bottle and took some of the ruby liquid into his

mouth. It then occurred to him that this might actually count as imbibing

alcohol in the midst of a military operation.

Vassago seemed to think it was a waste if they didn't drink. He slugged the

fancy vintage down as if it were beer and wiped his mouth afterward. "I don't

give a shit about orders or speeches—I just wanna kill guys at the front line.

We're on a dive in this incredible VR world, so why not take advantage of it…? I

mean, look at this wine and that bottle. They're practically real."

"And in exchange, every wound you suffer will hurt and bleed. There is no

pain absorber in this simulation."

"That's the best part." Vassago smirked. Gabriel shrugged, put the bottle

down, and got to his feet from the sofa.

The imperial chamber on the top floor of Obsidia Palace was far bigger than

the executive rooms at Glowgen DS's headquarters, and the enormous

windows offered a full view of the night sky over the castle town below. It

wasn't quite as bright or colorful as San Diego's, but that just made it more

fantastic.

The generals who styled themselves lords had left to prepare for the coming

war, and the fires of the supply train transporting materials from storage

stretched down the road as far as the eye could see. He had commanded the

head of the commerce guild to use the castle's entire stockpile of food and

equipment, so the soldiers would not starve or freeze anytime soon.

Gabriel turned away from the abundance of lights and strode to the corner of

the room to place his hand on the purple slab of crystal there—the system

console.

He made a few commands in the menu and hit the button to call an external

observer. There was the strange sensation of time decelerating back to its

normal speed, and then Critter's high-speed voice came through the screen. "Is

that you, Captain?! I just got back to the main control room to keep tabs on you

and Vassago in your dive!"

"We're already in the first night. I knew how it worked, but this time

acceleration is a very strange thing, regardless. For now, the situation is

proceeding as planned. Within the next day or so, I will have all the units

supplied and ready, and in two days, we will begin marching on the Human

Empire."

"Fantastic, sir. Now, when you get Alice, you'll need to bring her back to

where you are and perform the menu option to eject her to the main control

room. Then Alice's lightcube will be ours. Also, this is something you should tell

that idiot Vassago."

Gabriel heard a muttered curse over his shoulder—Critter's voice had been

loud enough for all parties to hear.

"Since we don't have full admin privileges, you cannot reset accounts. If

either of you die while you're in there, you can't continue using those superaccounts. You'll have to start over as a typical grunt!"

"Yes…I'm aware. I will ensure that we're not fighting at the forefront for now.

What is the JSDF doing?"

"Nothing, as of this moment. Doesn't seem like they're aware you guys are in

a dive."

"Good. I'm going to cut communication. I'd like to save the next one for after

I've secured Alice."

"Roger that. Looking forward to it."

Gabriel closed the communication window, and the usual accelerated-time

sensation returned with another slightly unpleasant shift. Vassago was still

spitting and grumbling as he fought with the fasteners of his armor, until at last

he had hurled all of it onto the floor and was standing in leather shirt and

trousers.

"So, Bro…I'm guessing that if I wanted to go kick it downtown, that would

be…not cool with you?"

"Have patience for now. I'll give you a night to yourself after the operation is

finished."

"Got it. So no killing or women for now…Guess I'll just get a good night's

sleep, then. I'll take that room."

Vassago disappeared into an adjacent bedroom, cracking his joints. Gabriel

exhaled and removed the crown from his forehead. He put the ostentatious

cloak and gown on the sofa and tossed the sword on top of them.

In the other VR games he'd played, removing a piece of equipment returned it

to item storage, but this world did not have such a convenient feature. If he

lived like this for a month, the room would become a pigsty, but he'd be leaving

the castle in two days and returning only so he could log out.

Gabriel undid the top button on his shirt, opened the door on the opposite

side of the room from Vassago's—and froze, eyes narrowed.

In the bedroom, which was also frightfully large, there was a small figure

prostrated next to a bed of almost comical extravagance.

He had ordered that no one, not even servants, come to the floor above the

castle's throne room. How could someone have defied the orders of their god?

He considered going back for his sword, then thought better of it and chose to

enter the room, closing the door behind him.

"…Who are you?" he demanded.

The female voice that answered was a bit on the husky side.

"…My role is to attend to your bedside this night."

"Ahh." His eyebrow perked up. He crossed the darkened room toward the

bed.

It was a young woman in a sheer gown, her hands on the floor. Her ashy-blue

hair was tied up top with a decorative string. The shape of her body, subtly

visible through the material, did not suggest the presence of any weapons.

"On whose order?" he asked, sitting on the sheer silk sheets.

The woman paused, then quietly answered, "This is…my duty, Your Majesty."

"I see."

Gabriel looked away and lowered himself onto the middle of the bed. A few

seconds later, the woman got up and silently slipped to his right. "Pardon my

intrusion…"

Even Gabriel had to admit that she had a striking, exotic beauty. Her skin was

dark, but the shape of her cheekbones suggested a certain Scandinavian-style

regality. As he watched her undo her clothing and pull at the string that held

her hair up, Gabriel was even moved, in a way.

So artificial fluctlights will act to such an extent?

Even this woman was incomplete as a true AI. So what heights must Alice, the

completed version, be capable of?

It was not that the woman was offering up her body that had so impressed

Gabriel.

No, it was that he knew and foresaw that when her hair fell down, she would

whip out the knife that glinted in the air overhead.

Gabriel saw it coming and had plenty of time to hold back her right arm with

one hand and quickly grab her around the throat with the other, throwing her

down to the bed.

"Rrrgh!!" the woman grunted, flailing wildly and trying to stab him with the

knife. She was stronger than she looked, but not enough to cause Gabriel to

panic. He immobilized the elbow of her dominant arm and held his left thumb

hard against her windpipe to keep her in place.

Despite the obvious pain on her features, the woman's gray eyes never lost

their determination. Based on the ferocity of her expression, the clumsiness of

her makeup, and her musculature, she did not seem to be an assassin by trade.

So this act of rebellion had come not from the leader of the assassins named Fu

Za but from one of the other generals—probably one of the humans.

Gabriel leaned closer to the woman and asked again, "On whose order?"

As she had done before, she rasped, "It was…my decision."

"Then who is your commander?"

"...I have none."

"Hmm."

Gabriel considered this, emotionlessly and mechanically.

There was a limit to artificial fluctlights that Rath was trying to overcome, and

that was their inability to defy any rule, law, or order from a higher person or

body.

Compared to the people in the Human Empire with their many overlapping

law systems, the Dark Territory seemed to be much freer, but at its heart, it

operated no differently. It only looked that way because there was simply one

law that ruled the fluctlights here.

And that law was "Take what you want with your own power." It was survival

of the fittest, where those with the greatest battle power ruled over the weak.

If Rath's test had gone as planned, the ordered world of the humans and the

chaos of the dark lands would've clashed without Gabriel's help, and the

ensuing war would've provided the results they used to find that breakthrough.

But for whatever reason, before the project reached that stage, a fluctlight

appeared in the human realm that broke through that limit. The informant at

Rath did not say there had been a similar breakthrough on the dark side.

In other words, even the woman who attempted to assassinate the emperor

with a mere knife was still a soul bound by the absolutes of law. Yet, when

Gabriel asked—no, ordered—she did not reveal the name of her master. In

other words, this woman prioritized her fidelity to her master more than the

orders from Gabriel, her emperor and god. Or rephrased yet again, she thought

her master was stronger than the emperor was.

In order for this operation to go smoothly, Gabriel—Emperor Vecta—would

need to demonstrate his fighting ability to the generals and officer units so they

understood that he was indeed the strongest being in the world. But he

certainly couldn't slaughter every last one of those generals. So what could he

do?

No…in any case, he would need to eliminate only one of the generals:

whichever one gave this woman the intent to kill him.

How could he expose the traitor? Contact Critter again and have him observe

the generals from the outside? No, that would force him to fix the acceleration

factor at one-to-one for a while, eating up valuable real-world time while he

waited.

Instead, Gabriel gazed back into those steel-colored eyes and demanded,

"Why did you attempt to take my life? Were you given money? Were you

promised status?"

He didn't put much thought into the questions themselves. But the answer he

got was nothing like what he expected to hear.

"For good cause!"

"Oh…?"

"If you start a war now, history will lose a hundred—no, two hundred years of

progress! We mustn't go back to the days when the powerless were tortured!!"

Once again, Gabriel was mildly surprised. Was this woman really at the stage

before the AI breakthrough? If so, was it this woman's master who'd put those

words in her mouth?

He leaned closer, staring directly into those gray irises.

Determination. Loyalty. And hiding beyond those things…

Oh. I see.

In that case, he did not need this woman anymore. Or more accurately, he did

not need her fluctlight.

Following his decision, Gabriel spared not another word, squeezing harder

with the hand he had around her neck.

He could hear her vertebrae cracking, and the woman's eyes bulged. Her

mouth opened in a silent scream. As he weighed down on her flailing limbs and

mercilessly strangled her, Gabriel was filled with a different kind of surprise

than before.

Was this really a virtual world? The sensation of muscle and cartilage being

destroyed through his fingertips—the fear and agony exuding from her bare

skin—all of it stimulated his senses in a more tangible way than the "real" world

ever had.

Before he knew it, his body convulsed, and his left hand clenched on reflex.

There was a dull crunch, and the unfamiliar woman's vertebrae snapped.

And then Gabriel saw it.

Protruding from the woman's forehead, with her eyes closed and teeth

gritted, came a radiant, colorful light.

It was the same thing—the cloud of the soul that he had witnessed when he

murdered young Alicia.

Gabriel instantly opened his mouth to suck in the woman's soul.

Bitterness born of fear and pain.

The sourness of frustration and sadness.

And then, upon his tongue, the indescribable nectar of Heaven.

A vague, hazy light flickered against the back of his closed eyelids.

Young children frolicking in the front yard of an older two-story house.

Humans, goblins, orcs, too. They looked to him, faces shining and arms

outstretched as they ran closer.

The image vanished and was replaced by the torso of a man. His chest was

broad and strong, warm, and powerfully enveloping.

"I love you…my lord…"

The faint voice echoed and faded away.

Even after all the visions passed, Gabriel continued to clutch the woman's

corpse.

Sublime. What a truly sublime experience.

The majority of Gabriel's consciousness trembled with pleasure, but the

remaining bit of rationality attempted to add a kind of logic to what he'd just

experienced.

The woman's lightcube-encased fluctlight had made contact with Gabriel's

own through the Soul Translator. So perhaps, as her life (or hit points) reached

zero, a fragment of the quantum data that was released flowed back into him

through his connection.

But at this point, that rational reason did not matter to him.

At last, he had again experienced the phenomenon he'd dedicated his life to

finding. He absorbed the final emotion, the last fleeting love the dying woman

felt, and savored it to the fullest. It was like manna from Heaven amid the

barren wastes of the desert.

More.

I must have more.

I must kill more.

Gabriel rocked back, shaking with silent laughter.

The ten generals and their various lieutenants were lined up, all bowing

obsequiously, much to Gabriel's satisfaction.

As he'd ordered, they had fully prepared for the march in just two days. In

fact, it might even be possible that these general units were more capable

military officers than the ones found lounging around the executive offices of

Glowgen DS.

At this rate, they might as well be finished products. On top of their excellent

management skills, they were utterly loyal. You couldn't ask for anything more

from an AI to be loaded onto battle robots.

And yet, it mustn't be forgotten that the fealty of the generals was an effect

of the very flaw in the artificial fluctlights that Rath was so concerned about. It

was because the concept that the one with the most power should rule was

etched into their souls that these ten were so blindly obedient to Gabriel—to

Vecta. It also meant that the moment they had any reason to doubt the

emperor's power, any one of them could betray him.

That concern had already shown itself to be very real.

The woman who'd tried to sneak into his bed as an assassin two nights ago.

She had attempted to kill the emperor, the one with the highest authority in

the land. In her heart, there was a master on a level higher than Gabriel.

Someone whom she'd called my lord in her dying thoughts. And it was

practically certain that it was one of the ten generals lined up before him now.

To her, this master was stronger even than Emperor Vecta. Which meant that

it was highly likely this lord, whoever he was, secretly did not swear fealty to

Gabriel, either. If he went into battle with such a unit under his command, the

possibility of betrayal when he least expected it was undeniable, no matter how

unlikely.

He had to find this lord from among the ten and eliminate him. That would be

his final mission before their march began.

It would also display the emperor's power to the remaining nine. Their

fluctlights would eternally understand who was truly the mightiest of all.

At this time, Gabriel Miller did not consider even the most infinitesimal

probability that he might be shown inferior in battle to any one of the ten units

before him. To him, the Underworld was another VR world, one that existed as

an extension of video games. He was still under the belief that all the units

around him were nothing more than unusually complex NPCs.

The dark general, Vixur ul Shasta, knelt and hung his head as the words of his

master echoed in the back of his mind. It was a moment from over twenty years

ago in the sparring room of the headquarters of the dark knights brigade.

"The master of my master before him died instantly by way of beheading.

Master's chest was slashed, and he perished on the path back to the palace. But

while I lost an arm, I made it back alive. It's not much to brag about, I know."

And from his formal sitting position on the polished dark floorboards, Shasta's

master had displayed his right arm, which was cut clean off above the elbow.

The wound had been healed with herbs and bandages but nothing else. It was

hideous to behold.

The cause of that injury, just three days before, was the dark knight's oldest

foe and the greatest swordsman in the world—or the greatest monster—the

Integrity Knight commander, Bercouli Synthesis One.

"But do you know what this means, Vixur?"

As a young man of barely twenty, Shasta didn't have an answer. His master

had placed his good arm back on his lap, closed his eyes, and muttered, "We are

catching up at last."

"Catching up…to him, you mean?"

Young Shasta couldn't keep the note of disbelief out of his voice; such was the

overwhelming power of Bercouli's combat. The sight of his master's severed

arm spraying blood as it flew through the air lodged into Shasta's spine like ice,

and the sensation still hadn't melted after three days.

"I will be fifty this year. But I still feel as though I have not mastered swinging

the sword or even my grip. And doubtless I will say the same when I die in

another five or ten years," his master said quietly. "Our lives are too short. We

are not meant to reach the territory of a man like him, who has lived over two

hundred years already. It is shameful to admit, but until we actually traded

blows, a part of me was already resigned to this. But now that I have been

roundly defeated and come back alive in retreat, I realize that I was wrong. It

wasn't a waste…Not my master's attempt on his life nor all the other masters

before him. Vixus, what is the ultimate sword technique?"

The question was so sudden that Shasta had answered without thinking.

"The Empty Sword, master."

"Correct. After many years of training, the sword becomes one with the body.

And the greatest of all techniques happens when one does not think to strike or

think to draw or even think to move. That is what my master taught me—and

what I taught you. However…it was not so, Vixur. There was something beyond

it. And I learned this when that monster struck me down."

There was a faint flush of excitement on the man's weathered face. Without

realizing it, Shasta was leaning forward in his formal sitting position.

"Something…beyond?"

"The opposite of emptiness. Unshakable certainty. The power of will, Vixur."

Suddenly, his master swung the stump of his right arm out. "You saw it happen.

I swung level at the right. It was an Empty slash—the fastest attack of my life

and completely unthinking. My first movement gave me the advantage over

Bercouli."

"Yes…I thought so, too."

"However—however. When he put up his sword to receive the blow, which

should have rebuffed it, he somehow pushed back my swing instead and

chopped off my arm. Can you believe this, Vixur? In the moment, his sword was

not even touching mine!"

Shasta was stunned. Then his disbelief set in. "That…that cannot…"

"It is truth. It was as if the path of my swing itself was pushed aside by some

invisible force. Not arts. Not Perfect Weapon Control. There is only one way to

describe the phenomenon. My Empty Sword lost in battle to the willpower he

refined over two centuries. He envisioned the path his sword was meant to take

so powerfully that it became unshakable truth!"

In the moment, Shasta could not believe what his master was saying. How

could it be possible that something without form, like the power of will, could

have that effect on a real sword—hard and heavy, something that truly existed?

But his master had expected Shasta's reaction. He returned to a formal

position atop the shining floorboards and quietly said, "Vixur, I give you my final

instruction. Strike me down."

"Wh-what do you mean?! When you just…"

Shasta couldn't get the word survived out of his throat. Not when his master's

eyes were full of such fierce determination.

"Now that I have prolonged my life, you must strike me with your blade. After

he defeated me with a single blow, I am no longer the most powerful figure in

your mind. As long as I am alive, you cannot fight him on equal terms. You must

cut me, kill me…and stand on the same level as Bercouli!!"

His master got to his feet and took a stance, as though holding his sword with

the arm that was no longer there.

"Now stand! And draw your blade, Vixur!!"

Shasta cut down the master and ended his life.

And in doing so, he understood the meaning of his master's words.

The invisible blade clutched in his right hand—the blade of will—produced a

profusion of sparks when it intersected with Shasta's, and it even cut open his

cheek, leaving a scar that had never healed.

Face wet with tears and blood, young Shasta stood at the doorway of the

secret that surpassed the Empty Sword—the Incarnate Sword.

Time passed, and five years ago, Shasta had finally challenged Bercouli, the

head Integrity Knight and sworn enemy of the dark knights. At age thirty-seven,

he sensed that his sword had reached the limit of what it could achieve.

His master had returned from the fight alive at the cost of an arm, but Shasta

was not intending to come back at all if he lost. Shasta had never taken a

disciple to be his sword heir. He did not want to burden a young soul with the

fate of killing his master and being killed one day in kind. It was his decision

instead to end the cycle of blood with his own life.

With all the willpower and determination he possessed—in other words, his

Incarnate power—he met Bercouli's first strike head-on and was not rebuffed.

But even at that moment, Shasta sensed his coming defeat. He did not think he

could summon a strike with the same power and weight a second time.

But as their swords locked, Bercouli just laughed and muttered, "A very good

swing. No sword forged of desire to kill could stop my blade that way. Think

upon that and come to me again in five years' time, boy."

The commander of the Integrity Knights created some distance and leisurely

left the scene. It seemed like his back was open to attack as he went, but for

some reason, Shasta couldn't take the opportunity.

It took a long time for him to understand what Bercouli had meant. But after

those five years, he now felt that it made sense. If Shasta had put nothing but

murder and hatred into his swing in that fight, he would have lost the ensuing

clash. The fact that he managed a draw for that single moment was because

more than the desire to kill gave weight to his determination.

In other words, it was the gratitude to his forebears who had given their lives

to pass down their skills, as well as a prayer for those who would follow in his

footsteps.

It was why Shasta instantly decided to launch a negotiation for peace when

he heard the news of the pontifex's death. He was certain that the Bercouli he

knew would accept the offer.

And for the same reason, he knew that when Emperor Vecta descended out

of nowhere onto Obsidia Palace and decided unilaterally to prepare for war, he

would have to kill the man.

Even as he knelt and bowed his head, Shasta was preparing the Incarnation

he would put into his killing blow.

In his return after centuries of absence, the emperor appeared to be a young

man with the pale skin and golden hair of a human from that distant realm. His

size and features did not inspire fear or imply great menace.

But those piercing blue eyes alone spoke to the extraordinary nature of the

emperor. There was a void behind them—an endless abyss that absorbed all

light. This was a man who possessed an unfathomable, evil hunger.

If that void swallowed whole his Incarnation, the sword would never reach

him.

If so, Shasta, the dark general, would die. But his will would be carried over to

those who followed.

He had only one lingering concern. Because Lipia had not come to his room

last night, he had not been able to express his will to her. Either she was too

busy with the various tasks to be done before the journey, or she had gone to

visit the special "home" she cared so much about.

If he revealed his plan to kill the emperor to her, she would insist on joining

him and refuse to hear his reasoning against it. So in that sense, it was a good

thing.

Shasta drew a breath and held it.

He reached out with his left hand to brush the sword he had taken off and

placed on the floor.

It was fifteen mels to the throne. Two strong steps, and he would reach it.

He mustn't allow his first move to be read ahead of time. His mind must be

empty when he drew the blade.

His power of Incarnation was refined to the limit of what he could achieve,

and he let it flow from his fingers into the sword. Then he emptied his body.

His left hand reached for the sheath.

But then the emperor spoke, almost incidentally, in a voice as hard and

smooth as glass.

"By the way, an interloper snuck into my bedchamber the night before last.

With a knife hidden in their hair, in fact."

A murmur of muted surprise swept through the chamber.

Some of the nine feudal lords to the left of Shasta held their breath; others

growled or sank deeper into their thick robes. More than a few gasps went up

from the officers waiting behind them.

Shasta was just as stunned as the others were. He thought quickly, not

budging from his combat stance.

Someone else had reached the conclusion that the emperor should be

eliminated. Given that he was perfectly alive and well, that attempt had sadly

failed—but which of the nine had sent the assassin?

It wouldn't be any of the five nonhumans. The giants, ogres, and orcs were

beyond question, but even the relatively small goblins would not be able to

sneak to the top floor past the many guards.

Out of the four human lords, young Iskahn, the pugilist, and Rengil, the head

of the commerce guild, could be ruled out. Iskahn's entire purpose for living

was to master the art of unarmed combat, and Rengil stood to gain enormous

wealth should a war erupt.

Given the method of sending a killer to the bedchamber, Fu Za of the

assassins guild was most suspicious, and to be fair, the man could be absolutely

inscrutable, but the use of a dagger did not make sense.

After much research and experimentation in the ways of skulduggery, the

assassins guild were masters not of arts or weapons but of a third means:

poison. Fu Za's clan were a people who banded together to survive because

they were not blessed with a high arts-usage privilege or weapon-wielding

privilege. They had their own rules, which stipulated that hidden needles and

blowguns were the weapons of choice for administering poison. They did not

use daggers.

For the same reason, the dark mage leader, Dee Eye Ell, on his left must also

be ruled out. The woman was nothing but ambition, and she seemed like the

type to consider climbing to the top of the land of darkness by killing off its

emperor, but any of Dee's assassins would use arts, not a dagger.

But that meant none of the nine other lords sent the killer.

Only Shasta, commander of the dark knights, was left.

But of course, he did not order this. He knew that when the time came to

depose the emperor, he would give up his own life and sword to do it. He had

never ordered any of his knights to perform an assassination, nor had he even

spoken of his hidden decision…

No.

No…

It couldn't be.

It had taken Shasta no more than the blink of an eye after the emperor

mentioned the assassin to reach this point. He felt the tips of his fingers against

the sheath growing cold.

The willpower in his hand abruptly shifted into something else: warning,

unease, fear, and the dread of certainty.

It was then that Emperor Vecta made his second statement.

"I will not condemn whoever sent that assassin after me. There is nothing

wrong with the use of one's power to gain greater power. If you wish to stop

me, then I welcome your skulking attempts."

He gazed out upon the murmuring crowd in the great hall, and for the first

time, he wore what might be called an expression of emotion: a faint smile on

his pale lips.

"But only, of course, if you understand that your actions will be met with the

appropriate consequences. Such as…this one."

His hand stretched out from the long-sleeved black outfit and gave a signal.

From the side of the throne, on the right-hand wall from Shasta's perspective,

a door opened silently, and a little serving girl snuck forward. There was a large

silver tray in her hands, holding something rectangular that was covered by a

black cloth.

The servant set the tray down before the throne, bowed deeply to the

emperor, and scurried back to the doorway.

In the tense silence that followed, Emperor Vecta reached out with the long

tip of his shoe, a twisted smile at the corners of his mouth, and stepped on the

cloth covering the tray to slide it away.

And then Shasta, frozen in place, saw what was underneath.

A cube of ice, pure and translucent.

And trapped inside it, laid to an eternal rest from which she would never

wake, was the face of the woman he loved.

"Li…pi…"

His lips only formed the shape of the last a.

Even the chill over his body vanished, leaving nothing but an impossibly deep,

dark void filling his chest.

Shasta knew about the orphanage that dark knight Lipia Zancale secretly

operated. She took in children of all races without parents or siblings—children

fated to waste away and die—and raised them herself. Shasta saw that action

as a sign of hope for the future.

It was why he told his secret ideals only to Lipia. An endless dream in which

the stagnant, ever-present war with the human realm ended, and they created

a world of nurturing and sharing rather than slaughtering and stealing.

And all that did was cause Lipia to make an attempt on the emperor's life,

bringing about this hideous result. It was the emperor who'd killed her—but it

was also Shasta. Of this, there could be no doubt.

For the span of an instant, a storm of unfathomable regret and shame tore

through the emptiness in Shasta's heart. That was all the time it took to

transform into one dark, black emotional response.

Murder.

Kill him. Do anything you can to kill the man with his legs folded on the throne,

smugly smiling down.

Even if it had to come at the cost of his own life and the entire future of the

Dark Territory.

So which of these lords is the problem?

Gabriel surveyed the ten kneeling leader units before him, feeling just the

slightest hint of entertainment from the situation.

The woman had loved her master with all her heart. When he had drunk the

emotions she exuded on her death, that sweet flavor like nectar from Heaven,

Gabriel understood not just her love but also the love her lord gave to her—as a

kind of data pattern only, of course, a mere fact.

So he was certain that if he showed them the woman's head, the one she'd

called my lord would act. Then he just had to mercilessly eliminate the traitor

unit, fostering the loyalty and fear of the remaining units. It was just like any

other sim game he played in the real world to pass the time.

What a pathetic and entertaining bunch.

Given real souls, yet limited in their intelligence. No matter how many times

he killed them, they could be regenerated at will. On the day he had the entire

mainframe of the Underworld and its lightcubes, he would be able to satisfy the

unbearable hunger that had plagued him since childhood at last.

Gabriel relaxed and waited with his cheek resting against an arm propped up

on the armrest.

The distance between him and the units was a bit over fifty feet. It was

enough distance that he could use the sword at his left side to block any kind of

weapon from there.

Of course, system calls were insufficient to block a command-based attack.

But Gabriel's concerns in this regard had been wiped away before he even

logged in.

Dark God Vecta's super-account was set up so Rath's engineers could control

the Dark Territory directly. Therefore, his hit points—or life—were vast, his

sword was the best, and most of all, Vecta had a certain kind of cheat code: He

could not be designated a target in any kind of command-based attack.

Given all this protection, when the knight in black armor on the left end of the

list of ten arched his back— When the aura gathered around him like a pale

shadow—

When his hand darted to the sheath on the floor like lightning, when his face

suddenly lifted, the bold eyes in the center of it visibly glowing with a kind of

inhuman red color— Gabriel was unable to fully understand what was

happening.

This world was not just a program being calculated on a physical server, but it

was also a kind of living dream constructed from the same light quantum

particles as the human fluctlight.

He didn't realize that the pure, powerful hostility the knight in black exuded

was traveling from his lightcube to the Main Visualizer, then through quantum

pathways to the STL Gabriel was using to connect to the simulation.

Shasta's bloodred eyes saw nothing but the emperor.

With the fastest movement he'd ever made in his life, he drew his blade.

From the sheath came the Divine Object his master had left to him, the long

katana Oborogasumi, but it was no longer the familiar gray blade he had seen

so many times. Now the thick night mist that gave the long blade its name was

swirling fiercely around it.

Shasta did not realize that the logic of this transformation was the same as

that of the Integrity Knights' Perfect Weapon Control, which he had studied for

so many years but never understood. But even if he did, it would not matter to

him now.

"Shaaa!!"

Shasta hissed, infusing all the rage, hatred, and sadness of the world into one

great overhead swing.

3

She flew from the northern end of the human realm to the farthest east.

Eastavarieth was the most enigmatic of the four empires, and it was the first

time Alice the Integrity Knight had ever visited it—as it was for Amayori, who

was born in the west.

A rushing river as blue as lapis rushed between strange, jutting rock

formations. When the occasional town or village appeared on its banks, it was

built not of the familiar stone as in the north, but mostly of wood.

Nearly all the people who looked up to the sky and pointed at her had black

hair. Alice recalled that Vice Commander Fanatio, whom she'd never quite seen

eye to eye with, was from this region.

Directly in front, Kirito leaned back against her and stared mutely into the sky

as she held the reins. His hair was black, too, so perhaps he was from this area

—and maybe an encounter with the people below would even cause him to

open up again. But sadly, she had to reach their destination as quickly as

possible.

They'd been traveling for three days, setting up camp away from civilization

and eating fish Amayori caught nearby and the dried fruit she'd brought along

for the trip.

On the afternoon of the second day of the eleventh month, they reached the

End Mountains, which looked no different from those in the far north, and a

ravine that looked as though the gods themselves had split the range vertically

in two.

"…We can see it now, Kirito," she murmured, brushing the neck of her

dragon, who had carried the load over their long journey. Now that most

magical beasts had all but vanished from the world, dragons were the creatures

with the highest natural life values, but even then, carrying two humans and

three Divine Objects had to be a great burden. It seemed to have exhausted all

the energy it had stored up from eating fish to its heart's content for half a year.

She whipped the reins, promising that she'd give her mount its favorite boiled

mutton when they reached the camp. Amayori called back and beat its wings

powerfully, showing no signs of fatigue.

The ravine looked like just a narrow crack from far away, but as they grew

closer, its scale soon became apparent. By her eye, the span of the ravine was

nearly a hundred mels. It was certainly wide enough for an army of orcs and

ogres to march in standing abreast.

In the grassland surrounding the entrance to the ravine running straight

through the rocky mountains, there was a massive camp made up of countless

white tents. Smoke from campfires rose here and there, while soldiers engaged

in training exercises. Even from the sky, she could see the glint of swinging

swords and hear their shouts.

Morale wasn't as bad as she'd feared, but the total number of soldiers was

still abysmally low. By a rough estimate, there couldn't be as many as three

thousand in the camp. Meanwhile, the Dark Territory's invading army was at

least fifty thousand. "Soldier" and "guard" were callings given to only a small

fraction of the populace here, but beyond the mountains, everyone who was

capable of fighting became a soldier.

It was impossible to imagine that Alice's presence alone was going to change

anything. What kind of defensive strategy was Commander Bercouli

envisioning…? As she considered this, Alice urged her dragon past the camp and

toward the ravine, which was sinking into darkness.

"I'm sorry, Amayori. Just a bit farther," she said, and the dragon purred in

response, just as the peaks passed in front of the dying light of Solus.

As soon as they entered the ravine, her body was hit by a shiver-inducing

cold. The stone walls on either side were so smooth and sheer that they could

have been carved only by the gods. She couldn't find a single blade of grass,

much less a living creature, below.

After a few minutes' flight at slow speed, the trailing mists gave way at last to

a gargantuan structure.

"Is this…the Eastern Gate…?"

The towering gray gate was a good three hundred mels from bottom to top. It

was shorter than the five-hundred-mel Central Cathedral but every bit as

imposing in person.

Most stunning of all was that the two doors of the gate were carved from

single slabs of rock, with no parts or fittings. It seemed that such a thing was

impossible not just with human hands but even with sacred arts' ability to

harness natural materials. Administrator's greatest creation was the Everlasting

Walls that divided Centoria into four sections, but they were a series of walls,

each one being far smaller than this great gate.

The gate had been placed here by the gods from the moment the world

began. In order to separate the human realm from the land of darkness—and to

lead them to this terrible tragedy some three hundred years later.

"Stop, Amayori," she commanded the dragon, staring up at the gate from a

close distance.

At about two hundred mels up, there was something written across the gray

rock of the vast double doors in sacred script. She tried sounding it out.

"De…stroy…at…the last…stage…," she read from one of the middle lines, but

she did not know what the words meant.

Just as she considered this, a terrible sound of destruction filled the air,

startling Alice and Amayori. She rubbed the dragon's neck to calm it down and

saw that along the gate, where it had been perfectly smooth before, there was

now a narrow crack like a static bolt of black lightning through its surface.

The fissure grew to a length of a few dozen mels before it stopped. A number

of pieces of rock peeled off and disappeared into the depths of the ravine. She

looked up and examined the massive gate once more. Then she noticed the

web of small cracks and fissures over almost the entire surface of the flat rock.

Alice swung the reins and brought her flying mount as close as possible to the

gate.

She reached out, hesitant, and traced the mark of Stacia in the air, then struck

the surface of the rock. The purple-colored window that appeared listed the

maximum and present life values of the Eastern Gate.

The number on the left was the largest of any that she had ever seen—and

they were many—at over three million. But the value on the right was just

2,985, less than a thousandth of the total. Even as she stared at it in shock, the

number dropped by one.

Sweat on her palms, Alice measured the time until it went down again. From

there, she calculated how much time they had until it was totally depleted.

"…Oh no…" She couldn't believe the answer she arrived at. "Five days…We

only have five days left…?"

The gate that had firmly separated the two worlds for over three centuries

would crumble to the ground in just five days' time. Was it even possible?

She thought of Selka's radiant smile, the craggy features of Old Man Garitta's

face, and the troubled look of her father, Gasfut. It was just days ago that she

had driven back the attacking goblins and blocked the cave with ice. She

believed this would leave Rulid at peace for the time being.

But if the gate crumbled in five days, and the defending force was unable to

stop the invading army of darkness, those bloodthirsty monsters would tear

through this land like a flood. Its waves would reach those distant northern

lands, too, and swallow the village of Rulid.

"I have to do…something…," she mumbled to herself, pulling on the reins

without realizing what she was doing. Amayori turned away from the crumbling

gate and slowly flapped its wings, gaining altitude. When they reached the top

portion of the gate, at three hundred mels, she had the dragon hover again.

Beyond the gate there were ravines splitting the mountains, just as there

were on this side. But beyond that were not blue sky and green grassland, but

bloodred sky and Dark Territory soil that looked more like charred ash.

Alice made to look away from the hideous sight until something caught her

eye. From what little she could see of the black earth, there were tiny, flickering

flames.

She had Amayori gain altitude so she could look closely. It wasn't just one

light. They were clustered irregularly, not spread evenly, and extended as far as

she could see.

They were campfires.

It was a camp. The lead forces of the dark army were waiting in great number,

just beyond their reach. Waiting for the moment that the gate fell, and they had

a path into the human lands.

"Five…days…," she mumbled again, voice hoarse.

Then she turned the dragon around. If she kept staring at the sea of

campfires, she was going to be consumed with fear and rush among them to

fight on her own.

She knew that against simple goblin and orc foot soldiers, she could easily

dispatch a hundred or two of them and return safely. But if they had ogre

archers or a contingent of dark mages, it would not be nearly so simple.

Even an Integrity Knight with the might of a thousand was still just one

person. She would not remain unharmed by ranged attacks from the rear,

where sword techniques and sacred arts would not reach, and a sufficient

number of small injuries would still eventually prove to be fatal. That was what

Commander Bercouli had feared for so many years: the greatest weakness of

the Integrity Knights and thus of humanity's protection itself.

Administrator, who had demanded that their power be concentrated into an

elite group of individuals, was now dead, and the weapons and armor gathering

dust in the cathedral had already been distributed to the impromptu defensive

army. But the time they had remaining was far too short. If only they had ten

thousand and a full year to prepare…

Alice sighed, cutting off that fruitless line of thought, and ordered Amayori

into a descent.

The guardian force's camp had a large empty space left in the center. Based

on the extra-large tents adjacent to it, this was clearly where the dragons were

meant to land and take flight.

Amayori circled around as they descended, and before the beast's claws had

even brushed the green, it was stretching its neck toward the tents and gurgling

with excitement.

An emotional response came right away—that would be Takiguri, Amayori's

brother. Once the dragon came to a stop, Alice picked up Kirito, hopped down

to the grass, and removed the heavy bags from the dragon's legs. Amayori

promptly plodded toward the tent and began rubbing against the neck of the

other dragon, who popped its head out from under the thick fabric.

Alice found herself smiling at the sight, then heard footsteps approaching

from the other direction and hastily made her expression neutral. She

straightened out the hem of her simple skirt and pulled her wind-bedraggled

hair behind her head.

But before she even turned around, a familiar man's voice rang out across the

landing area.

"Alice, my mentor! I always believed in you!"

Sliding across the grass into her view was the Integrity Knight with whom

she'd just shared a drink ten days ago, Eldrie Synthesis Thirty-One. Despite

being in a camp, his wavy lilac hair and shining armor were both utterly

spotless.

"…You seem well," Alice noted drily, which did not dissuade Eldrie from his

state of bliss—but he froze in the act of saying something.

He had noticed the black-haired youth Alice was supporting with her left arm.

One cheek tensed, and he drew his head back in a show of disbelief. "You…

brought him here?" he groaned. "Why?"

Alice arched her back to the best of her ability. "Of course I did. I swore an

oath to protect him."

"B-but…when the battle comes, we Integrity Knights must stand at the front

line at all times. What will you do with him while you are exchanging blows with

the enemy? You cannot bear him on your back, surely."

"If necessary, I will."

Alice drew her foot back, trying to keep Kirito's gaunt, limp body away from

Eldrie's skeptical gaze. But other soldiers at rest and lower Integrity Knights

were gathering in small groups around the landing area, glancing inquisitively at

the way Alice and Kirito stood together.

As a swell of murmurs rose around them, Eldrie issued a sharp rebuttal. "You

mustn't, Mentor! If you'll permit my forwardness, heading into battle with so

much extra weight will not only reduce your ability to fight, it will surely expose

you to greater danger! In the coming battle, you will have to…"

He paused, then gestured to the other soldiers in the area with a shining silver

gauntlet. "You have a duty to lead them into combat! How can you choose not

to make use of every last bit of your strength?!"

He was right. But she couldn't just admit that it was so. Alice ground her teeth

together, trying to find the right words to explain how both fighting for the

realm and protecting Kirito were equally important to her.

But at the same time, her disciple's impassioned argument startled her.

Compared to their time in Central Cathedral, when Alice was teaching him to

use the sword, he was clearly different now. At the time, Eldrie had practically

worshipped Alice, and he'd never once talked back or argued with anything she

told him.

The people of this world were given a secret seal in the right eye from the

mysterious "God from beyond" that made them unable to disobey any order

from the law or a higher being. As far as Alice knew, she and Eugeo, the late

owner of the Blue Rose Sword, were the only ones to successfully break that

hold. Even Administrator and Cardinal, who were practically gods themselves,

had been unable to defy the seal.

Eldrie must still be under its influence. But though he didn't clearly disobey

anything she said, he was no longer blindly obedient as he once was. He was

thinking for himself and offering his own opinion.

And it was most likely Kirito—and Eugeo—who had brought about this change

in him.

The two swordsmen, proud despite being the world's greatest rebels, had

found a way to shake Eldrie's soul in a powerful way through their momentary

encounter.

Now that she considered it, her sister, Selka, back in Rulid also complained

constantly about the stubbornness of the old-fashioned village rules and the

ideas of the influential members of town. There were also the two female

students who'd approached when Alice had taken Kirito and Eugeo from North

Centoria Imperial Swordcraft Academy. Young girls like them would never dare

to hail an Integrity Knight.

Of course, Alice herself was part of that list.

Until she fought Kirito and fell partway down the exterior of the cathedral,

she had never held the slightest doubt about the structure of the world, the

church's power, or the infallible holiness of its pontifex.

But when she was forced to accept a truce and work with him to climb the

walls and escape their peril, Kirito continually shook Alice with his words, his

sword, and his pitch-black eyes—until she was finally able to break through the

seal in her eye…

Kirito was like a hammer swung down to smash a world full of false harmony.

With the power hidden in his soul, he made the world tremble and quake, and

he had finally succeeded in smashing the huge old rusted nail at the center of it

all named the Axiom Church. The price he paid was the lives of his friend Eugeo

and the wise sage Cardinal—and even his own heart and mind…

Alice clutched the thin body she was supporting with her left arm. She stared

directly back into Eldrie's eyes.

She wanted to tell him. To say, You're only who you are now because you

fought him. But he would not understand, of course. To the knighthood, Kirito

was still an unforgivable traitor and heretic.

Alice just stood there in silence. Eldrie had a face like he was suffering some

kind of dull pain. He was about to say something further when the gathering

crowd suddenly parted, as though a giant invisible fist pushed them apart.

What emerged from its midst was a voice that was so nostalgic it nearly

brought tears to Alice's eyes but also set her on a painful, nervous edge.

"Don't get so worked up, Eldrie."

The young knight promptly straightened up. Alice looked away from him and

turned to face the speaker.

He wore a loose, eastern-style outfit that opened in front. A wide sash tied

around his midsection at a low point. On his left hip was a simple longsword

that had been thrust carelessly into his belt. And on both of his feet were odd

wooden shoes.

Compared to the knights and soldiers around him, he was dressed very lightly.

But the pressure that emanated from his perfectly chiseled body was thicker

and heavier than any armor.

The man rubbed at his short-cropped hair, a faded blue color that matched

his clothes, and smirked. "Yo, little lady. You look better than I feared. I'm glad.

Have your cheeks filled in a little bit?"

"…It has been too long, Uncle," Alice said, doing her best to fight back tears.

She saluted the world's oldest and most powerful swordsman—commander of

the Integrity Knights, Bercouli Synthesis One.

In the six years she'd lived as an Integrity Knight, this was the one person

whom Alice had opened her heart to, revered as a mentor, and considered a

father figure. And he was also the only person—aside from Kirito—whom she

was certain she could never beat in a sword battle.

She couldn't let him see her cry now.

If Bercouli said that she couldn't leave Kirito here, she would have to obey

him. Of course, in her present state, Alice was not forced to obey his

commands. But if she defied him in front of this crowd, it would threaten the

order of the knighthood and the guardian army. With the final battle

approaching in just five days, she couldn't afford even the tiniest scratch on

Bercouli's ability to lead.

Bercouli gazed upon her—his all-seeing eyes full of understanding and a smile

of simple kindness on his lips as he approached. He looked her straight in the

eyes, then gave her a forceful nod.

Eldrie was about to say something, but the commander silenced him with a

look, then faced Kirito where he hung in Alice's arms.

His lips pursed. There were pale fires glowing in his piercing eyes.

Bercouli sucked in a long, slow breath. Alice could sense the air around them

getting colder.

"…Uncle…," she whispered, barely audible.

Bercouli was focusing his sword spirit. He was going to utilize an Incarnation

technique taught only to Integrity Knights…something that surpassed even

Incarnate Arms. The ability to move objects with the power of the heart—this

was an Incarnate Sword.

He would infuse his blade with the power of concentrated will and unleash it.

At times, that invisible blade could even deflect the actual blades of the enemy.

The commander's Time-Splitting Sword, with its Perfect Weapon Control ability

to cut into the future, was possible only because of the overwhelming power of

his will.

So was Bercouli going to attack Kirito?

If he was literally planning to cut this problem in half, she could not allow it.

She would have to draw her sword to protect Kirito, if need be.

Overwhelmed by the extreme power in Commander Bercouli's sword, the

nearby soldiers, Eldrie, and even the dragons at the tent fell silent. With the air

so heavy that breathing felt difficult, Alice worked her hardest to move the

fingers of her right hand.

But before she could touch the hilt of her sword, Bercouli's lips moved, and

she heard a voice that was more mental than spoken.

It's all right, young lady.

"…?!" Alice held her breath.

Then, without budging a muscle, Bercouli's eyes unleashed a fearsome flash

of light. In the same moment, Kirito's body jerked and twitched in her arms.

There was a sharp ting! and a silver flash in the air between Bercouli and

Kirito.

What was that?! Alice wondered, gasping with shock. But Bercouli was

already wearing a broad smile. It was as though that display of ferocity had

never happened.

"U-Uncle…?" she stammered. But the commander merely rubbed his chin

with his fingers like they had just finished a practice exercise.

"Did you see that, young lady?"

"I…I did. Just for an instant…but it looked like…the glint of a swordfight…"

"Indeed. I hurled an Incarnate Sword at him—well, more like a dagger. If it hit

him, it would've at least cut the skin of his cheek."

"If…it hit him? Meaning…?"

"That's right—he caught it. With his own willpower."

She couldn't help but crane her neck to glance at Kirito, whom she was still

cradling.

But her hopes were dashed at once. The only thing in his half-open black eyes

was empty darkness. There was no expression on his face.

But I felt his body twitch. I felt it.

She brushed his hair with her free hand and looked back to Bercouli. The

commander just shook his head. "Seems like his mind is elsewhere," he said

firmly, "but he's not dead. Listen: He was trying to protect you, young lady, not

himself. So he will return someday. That's what I think. And it will probably be

whenever you really need him most."

Alice had to work twice as hard as before to keep the tears from blurring her

vision.

Yes. He will come back.

Kirito is…Well, he's the greatest swordsman in the world. With his two swords,

he defeated that half-godly being.

Come back…not for me. For the sake of all the people who live in this world…

Then she couldn't take it anymore, and she clutched Kirito tight in her arms.

Over her back, the commander's understanding voice explained, "And that's

why, Eldrie. Don't get hung up on the little things. We can look after one young

fellow, easy."

"B-but…" With admirable spirit, the newest of the Integrity Knights spoke his

mind openly to the oldest. "I can see how even the slightest bit of increased

strength might help. But in this situation…even if he returns to normal, I cannot

see how a student with a sword will make any difference…"

"Are you kidding?" Bercouli asked. While his smile was warm, it also had the

edge of a blade itself. "Have you forgotten? That boy's partner bested me in a

fight. He beat Bercouli Synthesis One, commander of the Integrity Knights."

The air around them went abruptly silent.

"That boy by the name of Eugeo was powerful…Unbelievably so. I even used

the Perfect Control arts of the Time-Splitting Sword—and I still lost. Just the

way that you lost and Deusolbert lost and Fanatio lost."

At last, Eldrie seemed to have lost his tongue. Of course he had—there

couldn't be a swordsman who could defeat Bercouli in a one-on-one duel, not

among the knighthood or in the Dark Territory beyond the gate. It was what

everyone in the Axiom Church believed.

But in that sense, wasn't this a very dangerous thing to admit?

Commander Bercouli had put together this rushed, impromptu defensive

army on the strength of his reputation as the greatest warrior alive. But by

telling everyone about Eugeo, a swordsman who had defeated him—and

claiming that Kirito was Eugeo's equal in skill…

Alice was just regaining the strength to look at him again when Bercouli's

head snapped up toward the sky.

"U-Uncle…?" she prompted. His reply changed the subject in the most

unexpected of ways.

"Very far away, I sensed a swell in the spirit of someone's blade before it

disappeared a moment later…Someone I know has just died…