To save Wilhelm, the man who had vanished, that was why she would step onto the battlefield. A pitched battle, not a simple skirmish, it had taken her months to understand the true difference. She grimaced, the forces of the demi-human alliance had committed themselves, they would not back down so easily today. She stood on a hill above, with a few generals, overlooking it all. Two lines collided, shoving and shouting, spears and axes reflecting the morning light. Even from up here the Divine Protection of the Sword Saint still worked, showing her what moves the combatants could make, how the battle could unfold.
Lizards slithered forth, trying to rip apart their foes. Tigers growled, standing fast against a spear charge by the Lugunican army. Lions roared, steadfast and ready to counterattack. For all their patchy clothing and haggard hides, the demi-humans were veterans. They formed a complex line, lizards with tough scales first, felines to strike when they went down, and canines behind them. Archers remained behind, firing into the Lugunican forces. She identified commanders and officers, standing between the demi-human line and their bowmen, urging them to hold and fight. The demi-humans were fighting with their backs to a sprawling hill, human soldiers having to shove, fight, push, and thrust their way through spears and teeth, slowly rising. A costly maneuver, hundreds of Lugunicans were dying for it. It should have been a stupid manuever. Theresia tied a bow in her hair to keep it from her face, she made it brilliant.
To save Wilhelm, the man who had told her he hated flowers, that was why she donned this white uniform. A golden buckle held it steady around her shoulders. They said it showed her purity. They said it made her a hero to the people. They said it showed her to be a brilliant servant of the crown. They said it made her glory visible. They said so many things about it. They said so much, but didn't understand that she needed no praise to go to battle.
To save Wilhelm, the man who had nearly died that day, that was why she put the blade on her belt.
Carol and Roswaal wished her well, and Grimm grunted with the same intent. She looked back to one of the Lugunican commanders. He nodded, resplendent armor—crest of the dragon emblazoned all across the breastplate—shaking from the motion.
To save Wilhelm, the man who made her heart throb, that was why she drew the sword, and started running.
Her feet pounded against the ground. Gravity yanked her to the ground, her legs and pumping arms keeping her upright, as she descended. Like a cavalry charge, she hit the side of the demi-human line, sword swinging. Before her blade could touch the first neck, it all hit her. The scents, sweat, blood, piss, and desperation. The sights, men impaled on spears, demi-humans chewing through necks, and a doglike man falling to the ground with an axe in his head. Her Divine Protection took in all the information, all the movements that her opponents would make, and the optimal path to victory. All the casualties that would follow. The Sword God laughed in her ears. She sucked in breath, the smells of it all turning her stomach, bile climbing up into her throat.
To save Wilhelm.
She cut through the first neck. Blood splattered, reality hit, and a cry rang out.
"IT'S HER!"
It was her. She cut down the man who'd shouted. The man behind him, a lizard, was drenched in blood. She charged; her sword pierced his heart. His head fell back, lips opening, tongue writhing around in search of clean air. Blood bubbled up from his throat. She grabbed his neck, ripped her blade out, and left him dying.
A crowd formed around her, almost a hundred trying to kill her, all possible attacks were laid bare. She understood how to respond.
"FOR LIBRE!" Libre Fermi was dead. Theresia made the one who'd shouted the name join him. Another dozen descended after him. They were skidmarks on their fellows' armor within a moment.
"FOR CROMWELL!" Valga Cromwell was dead. She sliced the leg of the man who'd shouted. He'd die soon. The fifteen men behind him died now.
"FUCKING DIE!" All that still lived screamed, like children throwing a tantrum before Volcanica.
She did not oblige their order. To save Wilhelm.
A wolfman charged her, axe raised over his head, and a lizardman came from the right. She cut the lizard down, shoving her fingers into the wolf's black pupils. Blood burst, digging under her nails. Both men dropped to the ground around her. A smell of shit rose, the dead could never hold their bowels. Her sword fell like a feather, through the bodies of another ten men, cleaving them into piles of flowing viscera. She lunged like a fencer, drops of red showering down like a heavy downpour.
The demi-humans were running from her now, sprinting away from the human line. Humans advanced, coming toward her, swinging around to strike the now exposed flank. The rout was spreading, demi-humans were realizing that she was on the field.
To save Wilhelm, she turned to the troops that were still holding.
She crashed into them like the Great Rabbit. Their skin was ripped from their bodies, their blood sprayed from beneath, and their bones cracked. Another force rose up against her, trying to meet her. A man with the ears of a cat dashed at her, bellowing and chuffing. A dozen men ran behind him. He came with a fire in his eyes, a righteous fury, a vehement desire.
To save Wilhelm, Theresia shoved her sword through his ribcage and spine. Bones shattered out of the demi-humans back, spraying everyone behind him, slicing into their skin. Blood slipped down them in rivulets. She came closer, the tiny cuts turned to throbbing wounds, blood spraying like stuck pigs. The Blessing of the Death God. They would die.
She moved on, killing and killing. To save Wilhelm.
The line had shattered, each demi-human in full retreat. A complete rout. She pursued.
A few groups had formed, trying to retreat in an orderly fashion. She came upon them like the flow of a river. Their blood made a stream of its own in her wake. There was another group, a few hundred meters away. She ran, crossing the distance. Most of them were crying, young demi-humans, probably conscripted into service. They all had tears in their eyes.
To save Wilhelm.
She cut. One down. Thirteen to go.
To save Wilhelm.
She cut. Two down. Twelve to go.
Teenagers and preteen boys, all different kinds of furs and scales covering them, held spears against her, trying to run her through. Their fear was not what doomed them, her birth was. They wept, sobbing. The boys' pants were all soaked through. A new smell of piss rose, stronger than before.
"Rash!" a man shouted. She looked to the side, someone was running at the group, an older man. His muscles were rippling while he dashed, his lizard-like jaw working as he sucked in air. She ignored him, he would not arrive fast enough to abate her.
To save Wilhelm.
She cut. Fourteen down. Thousands more to go.
The man screamed, "Bitch!" It was like a whisper in comparison to the howling army. "Rash!" Theresia recognized that sentiment. She had just killed his brother. She understood, her brothers had been lost too. Maybe, if there was someone strong enough to stop an army from fighting, they could have stopped all this. Maybe, she and this man could have spoken.
His boots pounded against the mud, wet with blood. He shoved his spear forward. She grabbed it, breaking the head from the wood. He dropped the weapon, pupils turning to slits, red eyes glaring into hers. He grunted, fingers coiling around her neck, arms flexing with effort. They were close enough to kiss, though she had a revulsion to the idea, unless thinking of Wilhelm.
To save Wilhelm.
She sliced, so hard the man exploded. Theresia left him and his brother, and those little boys, all dead. There was more work to be doing. As the morning passed overhead, Theresia hunted down each retreating party. Brothers were slaughtered, sons were ripped from the world, and everything smelled so bad she wanted to vomit the whole time. That was the only thing that stood out, everything else blended together.
If only there was someone with the power to stop a battle, and open a dialogue.
Theresia killed the men who'd stopped fighting because of her. It was noon by the time it was all done. She looked up to the hill. Carol and Grimm and Roswaal were all waiting up there. She walked up to them, satisfied with another day spent protecting Wilhelm.
Carol and Grimm were waiting for her.
Where had Wilhelm gone off too?
Did he really need someone to save him? She'd have to ask if they ever met again.
Roswaal J. Mathers stood, hands in her pockets, as Theresia van Astrea climbed the hill. She trekked up, mud suckling on her shoes, sword in her hand. She was dripping, drenched in blood. There was so much her pale skin was gone, the blue bow tying up her hair was red, and her hair was darker than it should have been. It was as if Theresia had just come out of a thunderstorm, sopping wet.
Pinpricks of blue stuck out, her eyes, scanning everything. Theresia was still scanning for any threat. There was no need, she had killed them all. She got up to the top, with all the generals, a few high-ranking knights, their squires, Carol, Grimm, and Roswaal herself. She dropped her sword to the ground. It sprayed red and black liquid into the grass, bits of heart and stomach and intestine and fur and scale sticking to the steel. Her swords always had to be replaced after a battle. That once white cloak, signifying the strength of Lugunica, was covered in bite marks and remnants of claws and halves of eyes. Ruined veins and arteries fell from Theresia's scalp like hair.
In three hours, Theresia had killed more men than Roswaal had in three and half centuries.
"Hey…Carol…" she said, grimacing as blood dripped into her mouth.
That had happened to her once, when Hector had come, but that had been Roswaal's own blood.
Roswaal stared down at the piles and torn apart shreds of dead demi-humans, their blood seeping into the dirt, making mud from their shattered hopes. What crime had any of them committed, but wanting a life free of slavery and persecution?
Carol wrapped her arms around Theresia, blood getting into her hair, and onto her blue uniform.
Theresia shuddered. "Is Wilhelm safer?"
Roswaal let her head drop.
Carol patted Theresia's back, nodding. "Yes, he's safer."
Roswaal understood what it was like to love someone so much that the lives and dreams and hopes and families of others meant nothing. She had no right to judge, they weren't so different.
