The Missing Battle

Leo's hood had fallen back. His cloak was almost torn and his chest gushed with blood. A hand pressed against the massive wound. Blood dripped from his nose, a faint stream running over his lips before he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

It had been a long time since he had been hurt this badly.

'The war, hm. The fighters there must have been incredible,' Leo thought. 'He broke three of my ribs and almost got my internal organs.' 

Against the far wall, General-polkovnik Grigori Durov slumped, his back pressed against the cold stone. Both his arms were gone—nothing but the jagged remnants of mana scars where they had been severed. That had not been because of Leo; no, someone else had already taken this man's greatest strength.

Grigori Durov was grinning despite the situation, his scarred face alight with something close to satisfaction. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading slowly, but he didn't seem to care.

"Well, well, well. It, haah, seems this is it for me."

Leo walked over, a hand on his mangled ribs. "So it seems. I would've liked to fight you in your prime."

"A warrior, eh? I recognize the Greek fighting form in your spear. Were you apart of the Aegiduchos?"

"Not quite. My mentor was."

"Ah, I understand. You Greeks do have that system in place. Haah…" The general made a sound closest to a laugh when at death's door. "You were holding back. It seems I was the lucky one."

Leo didn't answer immediately. His yellow-blue and brown eyes flicked down at the general. "Not exactly."

"Ah, I see," Durov said, his grin widening even as his strength faded. "I see it now. I knew something was off. You fight like a man with something to cherish. What is it you cherish?"

A dying man's question. Leo answered with fully honesty.

"...my daughter."

"Ah." He smiled and laughed out blood. "As did I."

Leo's lips tightened as he watched the man take his final breath. The smile remained on Durov's face even as his body stilled, his eyes half-lidded but peaceful. Leo burned the memory of the man who had pushed him so far. 

Slowly, he turned.

The five soldiers who remained were near the back of the room. They cared not for the merchant. They looked at the fallen general with reverence, their hands tightening on their weapons. Though they hadn't known his true identity until now…

"What now? Your general is dead. I'm fine with letting you walk away."

The soldiers exchanged glances, their gazes hardening. They silently reached an unspoken agreement. One of them, a man with a scar running down his jaw, stepped forward. "We can't leave," he said firmly. "You've killed our general. Whether we knew it or not, he was one of us. His disguise proved his commitment, and we'll honor him the same way we would any other comrade."

Another soldier, a woman with ash-blonde hair, stepped forward as well. "For General-polkovnik Durov, we will fight."

Leo's expression didn't change. He slowly withdrew his hand from his ribs, his fingers curling slightly. The faint stirrings of wind began to coil at his feet, brushing against the debris scattered across the floor.

"Then I will give you a warrior's death."

The soldiers nodded, their stances tightening as they raised their weapons. They knew the odds. They had seen what Leo had done to their general, even if the general had been weakened by age and wounds. But they didn't falter.

From the corner of his eyes, Leo saw Robert and his two friends. 

He disappeared, slit the throats of the five soldiers with a whip of wind, and put on his hood again. The gargles lasted for fifteen seconds. Then, death. 

Robert slowly pulled himself from where he was. His expression was nothing less of shock and awe. "I-incredible! Y-you killed them all…! I never expected you to be this powerful, Sir Anemoi!"

"The merchant." Leo distorted his voice and face again. He then jabbed a thumb at the gagged merchant. "Tend to him. We need to go." 

"Yes, of course, Sir Anemoi."

"Don't call me sir."

Robert gave a bow deeper than it had any right to be. "Apologies! This gentleman thief, Robert Goulet, simply offers his loyalty!"

First a battle against a general, now this Sir Anemoi nonsense? 

'What did I get myself into?'

In the background were the muffles of the merchant. After seeing what Leo was capable of, he was more than happy to let him do what he wanted.

****

The sun—though distant and faint in the Skia Sector—managed to peek through the eternal gloom at its peak. Leo adjusted his collar. The merchant beside him fidgeted nervously.

Leo resisted the urge to sigh. 'Relax,' he thought, though he knew saying it out loud wouldn't help. He did kill a famous Colonel General and then slit the throats of a bunch of soldiers. Leo was not a source of comfort for the poor merchant.

But dammit, the last thing they needed was to look suspicious. So keep it together!

Behind them, Robert and his two friends walked alongside. Their disguises were simple and convincing enough: dusty brown uniforms that suggested they worked for a trade caravan, complete with forged certificates of employment that Robert had procured earlier. Leo stole a forged certificate from the Soviets so he was fine too.

Only the blood and bone sticking out from his chest was not fine. Leo managed to suppress the bleed out with his mana.

Ahead was the Japanese blockade. Walls with two gates at the center. A massive checkpoint where the Japanese inspected every wagon, cart, and traveler attempting to pass through. Atop the wall, they could observe, eat lunch, and relax. Inside the walls, they could do more.

And in between both gates sat a Rikugun-Chūjō, a Lieutenant General.

The Rikugun-Chūjō was of average height and perfectly combed red hair. His red-black uniform was immaculate, every button and insignia polished to a mirror-like shine. His black eyes were unbearably dark and whole. They did not dart and look.

He simply sensed.

'That's him. That's the sensor.'

The sensor was akin to the strings of a harp, plucked and able to detect tiny tremors, magical signatures, lies, and even intent.

'So Robert and his rumours weren't lying. This man has been blessed by Tsukuyomi.' 

Leo adjusted the weight of his satchel. He didn't want to believe it. He wanted the rumours to be just that, rumours. But they were not. Seated on a backwards chair, he draped his arms lazily over the chair's backrest, his fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm. His posture was relaxed but coiled, like a predator at rest, with one boot kicked out slightly and his shoulders leaning forward just enough to close the distance.

As subtly as he could, Leo felt the air.

'Such absurd strength. He must be…yeah, has to be.'

Participated in the war at the age of twelve. Rose through the ranks at an unprecedented rate. Currently twenty-two years of age, just four years Leo's senior.

Ginzo.

The name's reputation preceded him. A bit mocked yet ultimately feared. The young man had been a key strategist during the Second Heavenly War, organizing ruthless campaigns that had decimated enemy forces.

As the merchant group approached the inspection point, several officers awaited. Two were samurai, three were ninjas.

'They don't exactly look like they're in the best condition. Look at that sheath, it's half broken.' Leo was not surprised. This was post-war equipment.

"Head over to Lord Ginzo for inspection."

Leo and the others moved forward as ordered. The merchant pulled the cart, keeping his head low, while Robert and his friends fell into step behind him. Leo was beside the merchant and kept his expression neutral, doing everything he could to seem like just another worker.

The Rikugun-Chūjō's eyes flicked over them, lingering on Leo for a fraction of a second longer than he would have liked. On the chair, seven or so feet away, Leo hoped to avoid conversation.

Alas, that was not the case.

"State your business," Ginzo said. Young as he was, his tone lacked warmth. 

The merchant spoke first, his voice trembling slightly. "Trade, sir. W-we're transporting goods to the Recreare Sector."

Ginzo's gaze didn't waver. "Specify, please."

"Fabric," the merchant replied quickly. "Luxury textiles—"

"Where?"

"Oriental."

That seemed to piss him off. "Where?"

"Japanese, Chinese, t-that…sort."

Out of all terms, the merchant used oriental and then proceeded to lump Japanese and Chinese. This was right after the war. People were fickle and tense and bloody nationalistic. The damn merchant was Chinese himself too! 

Leo could feel Ginzo's mana brushing against him like tendrils of smoke, probing for any inconsistencies.

"Certificates." Ginzo turned on his chair. Dammit. He expected them to walk over and hand their papers one-by-one.

The merchant had to gather his bearings, so Leo went first. He pulled his forged employment documents from his satchel and handed them over. Ginzo stared up at Leo, then the paper, then back to Leo.

"Okay." 

He cared little for Leo. Ginzo's focus was on the merchant. Luckily, he of all people was legitimate. Ginzo examined the official papers closely. Nothing. He skimmed through everyone else. 

"You." With a calm, stern swagger, Ginzo chin pointed at Leo once again. "That ring of yours. You married?"