Chapter Eight

The Fox And The Lionheart

With one end of the Redeemer pointing directly at Rubalkabara's chest, Mikieru Makimachi studied the olden image of his former Master from a distance. This was the greatest Cleric alive—the mighty Lionheart—and Mikieru was about to face him in one-on-one combat. This was a man who had almost fifty years of unbending service to the Church. He had fiercely defended its Holy Ranks in hundreds of missions and had proven himself the only eligible candidate for the High Exorcist office in the Church Conclave.

Mikieru had sparred against Rubalkabara several times in his youth—and he had always lost. In fact, Mikieru had never even landed a single blow at the old man. While he had gained invaluable experience from their fights, he had also fostered a deep resentment against his Master. With every loss, none of the words of wisdom or gestures of encouragement was offered to him—and in their stead, insults and ridicule were thrown his way. That, coupled with the fact that all their previous fights did not involve any of the Holy Arts save for the Blessing Trance, reminded Mikieru not to grossly underestimate this opponent.

As the sun dipped past the mouth of the rocky crevice they were in, Mikieru silently planned his method of attack. While he would not take Rubalkabara lightly, he would also hold nothing back in this battle. He swore to himself that he would fight the old man to the limits of his capabilities—to show the High Exorcist what the Kitsune was truly capable of.

•••

On the other side of the miniature desert canyon, High Exorcist Algus Rubalkabara stared thoughtfully—and somewhat warily—at Mikieru's fighting stance. He had always known that the quarterstaff was the young Cleric's weapon of choice ever since Acolytehood, and yet there was something about Mikieru's stance that looked different. The Cleric's right leg was set slightly further forward and to the right, and his grip on the Redeemer looked more relaxed, the tension instead more concentrated on his trim shoulders. Rubalkabara sensed an evolution in Mikieru's stance—and rightly expected an evolution in all other aspects of his former Apprentice.

The sun dipped further. In a moment, the entirety of the rocky crevice would be engulfed in the darkness of its shadow.

Not that the two Clerics needed the sun. In this battle, their Blessing auras would provide all the illumination they would ever need.

•••

Rubalkabara's stare shot to his right as a bluish-white light suddenly came to life at his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one end of the Redeemer rapidly approaching his head.

What? Impossible! the High Exorcist thought madly, instantly doing a 270-degree spin and violently swatting the incoming Redeemer backslash aside with the shield in his left hand.

Deep in his Blessing Trance, Mikieru used the momentum of his thwarted initial attack and spun in the opposite direction. Sand flew as his feet skidded along the ground, the other end of the Redeemer slicing through the rising wall of dust as it thrust towards Rubalkabara's armored midsection. The metallic clang contrasted with the sound of surprised pain that came from Rubalkabara's lips.

The Redeemer had met its mark.

As soon as Mikieru scored the first hit, he threw his leg upward in a rising back-kick that slammed under the stunned Rubalkabara's chin, launching the large man into the air.

Then, in that same instant, one of Mikieru's gloved hands left the Redeemer's shaft and discreetly charged a pulsating ball of mana into life. Then Mikieru planted his feet into the ground and flung the Holy Light spell into Rubalkabara's form in mid-air.

Rubalkabara's eyes widened as the ball of antimatter barreled through the air towards him. Instinctively, he extended his shield in front of him and tilted it at an angle. Incredibly, the Holy Light spell glanced off the shield, sending itself and the shield spiraling into the heavens.

Rubalkabara somersaulted in mid-air and landed on the ground heavily, with only the iron mace in hand. He didn't look up, even though he knew that Mikieru was already descending towards him, the Redeemer drawn back and poised for a deadly strike. Instead he took a moment to utter his own incantation.

Mikieru swung the Redeemer down at Rubalkabara's head.

Blessing!

Mikieru's eyes widened as Rubalkabara's large frame emitted a bluish-white aura, illuminating the ground around the High Exorcist's feet. Then the old man looked up, shooting a hostile glance into the descending Cleric's eyes before setting up to deliver a massive counter-attack.

It took only one powerful swing of Rubalkabara's iron mace to send the Redeemer, and Mikieru with it, flying up and away from him. The boom of the impact echoed through the canyon, the vibrations felt even in the sand.

Mikieru flew towards the rock wall. He jabbed the Redeemer horizontally into a jagged cavity in the rock, stopping his uncontrollable flight then and there. The Cleric swung himself up and stepped onto the Redeemer's shaft, looking over his shoulder and shooting a fiery, wide-eyed stare at his former Master, across the canyon and over a hundred feet below.

•••

All were aghast in the small group of hidden Battle Acolytes who were watching the battle from the ridge of the crevice. In barely fifteen seconds, they had borne witness to perhaps the first blows ever suffered by the Lionheart, only to see the Kitsune's attacks thwarted mightily in the end. Their hearts were pounding in their throats as they watched the two great Clerics face off again from a great distance, but none of them dared to utter a word.

That is, until the gifted Acolyte who had let them here noticed a shadow above them. She turned her eyes skyward, then immediately lunged to another Acolyte who was at her side.

"LOOK OUT!" she yelled, wrapping her arms around the boy and yanking him away just in time to avoid getting hit by a chunk of metal that seemed to have fallen from the sky.

She, he, and the rest of their peers stared with wide eyes at what had almost hit them. It was Rubalkabara's shield, very badly damaged by Mikieru's potent Holy Light spell. Edges of the large crack glowed in pale white, and smoke rose from the dents. It still bore the emblem of the Office of the High Exorcist, but even this was distorted almost beyond recognition.

Trembling, they slowly crawled back towards the ridge and peeked over the rocks. They still resolved to see the outcome of this battle, even though their thoughts about it weren't as certain now than before the fight began.

•••

Rubalkabara's fighting prowess grew from nearly five decades of experience and intense study.

But Mikieru was a Demi-human—a Half-Elf, it was surmised from his green Elf-eye—and as such, held greater potential than any human in Midgard. Thirty years ago, when Algus Rubalkabara was Mikieru's age, he was elevated to the rank of Exorcist—Grandmaster of the Brave Priesthood. Back then, everyone referred to Rubalkabara as the phenomenal prodigy who became the youngest Grandmaster Cleric in the Midgard's history.

But now, having traded blows with Mikieru, Rubalkabara admitted that even he himself was nowhere near Mikieru's level at that age.

Teleportation, Rubalkabara thought, thinking of the Holy Art that Mikieru used to suddenly appear on his weak side. He had learned the spell at age seventeen. But the physical relocation of the body cannot be controlled unless…

The old man's eyes narrowed while he looked up at Mikieru's form, standing on the Redeemer high up on the rock wall in front of him. He grimaced as he reached up and rubbed the painful spot under his beard.

No doubt about it, the High Exorcist concluded. He has grown. And if I do not be careful, he will kill me surely…

•••

The cold night wind blew Mikieru's long black coat about as he stared over his shoulder. He remembered being in a similar position as this two years ago, in the Mjolnir Mountain Pass where he battled against the Knight-Mage Garrione for the first time. This time, however, Mikieru noted that Rubalkabara had knocked him over twice the vertical distance than Garrione had—and Rubalkabara only used a simple iron mace to accomplish the inconceivable.

Stronger than Garrione, Mikieru observed, his incensed glare fixed on Rubalkabara's glowing figure in the crevice below.

"Mikieru," Rubalkabara's voice came from the canyon bottom. "I will give you this. You have never struck me in any of our previous matches, but you have managed to strike me now—twice—on your first attempt."

Mikieru said nothing.

"Commendable, I must admit," Rubalkabara continued. "You are only the second person to ever land a blow on me."

The younger Cleric raised an eyebrow. Second?

"But make no mistake. The evolution of your Teleportation skill is admirable, that you can now control the point of physical relocation… but it also remains a fact that you developed the skill on your own, without my knowledge or guidance…"

Rubalkabara stopped speaking for a moment. Mikieru waited for him to continue, never taking his glare off of the old man.

Suddenly, Rubalkabara vanished from his sight. Mikieru's eyes widened in shock as a bluish-white illumination shone from above him.

"…and as such, it is gold untested in fire."

Stunned, Mikieru shot a glance above him. Rubalkabara was there, his feet on the rock face and both hands on the iron mace raised high above his head.

•••

The watching Acolytes gasped as the Rubalkabara's mace smashed violently into the rock, shaking the entire crevice even as far as where they were hiding. Loud crushing sounds and a huge cloud of dust came from the impact point, followed by rocks and large boulders falling from the cloud—and the forms of Mikieru and Rubalkabara shooting from the cloud and flying towards the other side of the canyon.

•••

The exact same Holy Art as mine! Mikieru contemplated wildly, rapidly approaching the rock face on the canyon's other side. He knew how to control the Teleportation skill all along? How?

Mikieru glanced behind him. Rubalkabara was hurtling through the air behind him, hot in pursuit. The younger Cleric had barely managed to escape the old man's devastating attack, but was now pinned into the defensive.

Mikieru glared at the iron mace in the High Exorcist's hand.

As he neared the canyon walls, Mikieru somersaulted in mid-air and slammed his feet onto the rock face, causing several hairline cracks to appear around his feet. Then he looked up just in time to see Rubalkabara rapidly closing the distance between them and swinging his mace mightily inwards—at Mikieru's head.

Now!

Rubalkabara's eyes widened in that instant. He was looking into Mikieru's eyes as he swung his iron mace in—and swore that the younger Cleric's green Elf-eye turned yellow.

Another massive crash boomed throughout the canyon.

Rubalkabara remained suspended in mid-air. Mikieru had held the Redeemer vertically in front of him, one end on the rock face, and the other in the exact location where his head was only a split-second before. Mikieru had managed to avoid Rubalkabara's deathblow—and instead, the High Exorcist's mace met the Redeemer in the same manner that a hammer struck a nail.

Almost immediately after the impact came, Mikieru reached up with one arm and grasped the shaft of Rubalkabara's mace for leverage. Then Mikieru threw his legs from the rock face and swung them inward, slamming both feet into a stunned Rubalkabara's torso.

Rubalkabara spat as he somersaulted backwards, his hands empty. Mikieru had completely disarmed him.

Mikieru fell to the sandy ground below, Redeemer in one hand and Rubalkabara's mace in the other. Undaunted by the shower of boulders that crashed into the ground behind him, he put one end of the Redeemer on the ground and rested its shaft against his shoulder. He reached up and covered his Elf-eye with the gloved palm of his free arm, a whisper of pain escaping his lips.

Likewise, Rubalkabara landed on his feet on the canyon floor. He stared at Mikieru as he got to his feet, seeing a green eye when the younger Cleric lowered his free hand and returned the gaze.

"Fire?" Mikieru calmly retorted, effortlessly flinging Rubalkabara's mace into the rock wall behind him. The High Exorcist watched listlessly as his weapon disappeared into the shower of boulders behind Mikieru.

"I have tasted fire," Mikieru continued, "but my skills have been honed by blood and tears… and not my own."

Then Rubalkabara stared back into his former Apprentice's eyes.

Mikieru stood unmoving, glaring at his former Master while his thoughts drifted to a moment two years ago. Back then, he lay wounded and helpless among the flames while he watched tears fall from the eyes of his friend, the Merchant Jared Wycrow. The Elf Napolde Linwelyn, Jared's beloved, was in the Merchant's arms—bloodied almost beyond recognition—dead. Gone… utterly, utterly lost.

•••

So I see, Rubalkabara thought. Mikieru has subjected himself to intense self-training after the incident in Al de Baran. That would explain this new speed and strength, his new mastery of his Holy Arts… and the use of his clandestine Elf-eye.

Rubalkabara, with his hands empty, began channeling mana onto his palms. A large, pulsating ball of energy began to form.

This has become more interesting than I initially expected, Rubalkabara thought, his eyes narrowing. Come, Mikieru. Show me, then, what gold tested in blood and tears is capable of.

As the last of the boulders tumbled into the ground behind Mikieru and an uneasy silence prevailed over the canyon, the younger Cleric took one step towards his master. Soon his trot broke into jog, and finally into a sprint. One of his hands left the shaft of his Redeemer and charged his own Holy Light spell.

Rubalkabara watched in satisfaction as his former Apprentice came to him with nothing less than the intent to kill. When Mikieru came close enough, the High Exorcist began running towards him as well—and soon they were hurtling over the ground towards each other, about to break the silence once again.

Rubalkabara flung his Holy Light spell at the swiftly approaching Cleric, and Mikieru released his own ball of antimatter at the same instant. The two spheres met in a brilliant white flash that illuminated the whole canyon for an instant and sent millions of miniature balls of light flying in all directions from the impact point. At that moment Mikieru and Rubalkabara both lunged off the ground and soared towards each other, amidst the fluttering white specks, in mid-air where there was no escaping an inevitable clash.

•••

Over the next two minutes, which seemed like an eternity for the watching Acolytes, Mikieru and Rubalkabara traded blow after blow after blow. It was a spectacular display of Holy Art coupled with one-on-one combat. Often, entire sections of the canyon walls would crumble and fall to the crevice floor, shattered by the passing of the two legendary Clerics.

"I hope they don't bring the battle in this direction," swallowed an Acolyte, sweat trickling down the side of his face.

•••

All of a sudden, the dust cleared around Mikieru. The Redeemer in his hands, he looked around. He realized that, on the canyon's rocky mouth, there was only one Blessing aura that remained glowing—his.

Devious, Mikieru thought, standing still in the highest point on the rock, nearly four hundred feet above the canyon floor. He released the Blessing trance in order to hide in the dust and darkness. He is planning to attack me from a blind spot.

Mikieru narrowed his eyes, waiting for any foreign ray of light to appear around him. In his Blessing trance, he would still be too fast and too strong for Rubalkabara to attack without the aid of self-enhancement. The High Exorcist would still have to charge Blessing—and Mikieru was ready to counter at the first sign of its light.

Sure enough, a flash of bluish-white light soon shone behind Mikieru, and the Cleric immediately ducked, spun, and swung the Redeemer savagely.

•••

The quarterstaff-mace sliced through a weightless pillar of light that vaguely resembled the shape of a winged angel.

•••

Pneuma! Mikieru thought madly, instantly recognizing the Holy Art. This particular skill allowed a Priest to summon pillars of light, even from a considerable distance away, that would protect a small area from projectile weapons such as arrows, darts, and bullets. Mikieru had no projectile weapons with him, but the Pneuma spell had served its purpose—it had distracted the Cleric for a moment, allowing Rubalkabara to charge in from behind with his Blessing trance full in effect.

Mikieru spun and raised the Redeemer in instinctive defense, one forearm on the shaft to protect against a thrust attack. Rubalkabara barreled through the rising clouds of dust and swung an incredibly limber spinning roundhouse back-kick in mid-air. The heel of one of his greaves hit the shaft of the Redeemer with a loud clang.

Then, incredibly, Rubalkabara's kicking leg hooked around the shaft of the Redeemer. The old man's momentum allowed him to plant his other foot on the quarterstaff-mace and kick violently. The High Exorcist somersaulted backwards, his legs wrenching Mikieru's weapon from his hands. The Redeemer flew into the air, out of Mikieru's reach, as Rubalkabara landed on the ground and lunged towards the weaponless Cleric.

With hardly any time to recover, Mikieru gritted his teeth as he threw his arms up to block an incoming punch. Rubalkabara's gauntleted fist slammed heavily into his forearms, throwing him a good distance backwards—and off the canyon mouth's edge.

Mikieru plummeted headfirst into the canyon. At this height, even he couldn't be sure of a harmless landing. As soon as he saw it, Mikieru reached out and grabbed the edge of a rock ledge on his way down.

Hanging from the ledge, he looked at the crevice floor below him. His feet still dangled roughly three hundred feet from the floor—still unsure of a safe landing. He would have to find a safer way down.

The sound of footsteps came from above him. When Mikieru looked up, Rubalkabara was standing over him on the rock ledge, the Redeemer in one hand.

"Do you yield?" Rubalkabara asked quietly.

Mikieru did not answer, but glared at the High Exorcist in defiance.

"As you will," the old man said, allowing himself to stretch the muscles in his shoulders. "You hang at an unsafe height, you are unarmed, and I have the higher ground. The next move is up to me, then."

Rubalkabara stretched his arms forward, holding the Redeemer vertically in front of him. He held the lower end inches over Mikieru's gloved fingers. Then he moved his eyes from the Redeemer's bottom, up its magnificent silver shaft, and onto the flanges of the top end.

"Do you know precisely why we Priests are prohibited by Canon Law from using bladed weapons, Mikieru?"

Mikieru was silent for a moment. When it became apparent that Rubalkabara was waiting for a reply, he suffered the humiliation of giving one.

"Because Demons and Undead can only be crushed to oblivion."

Rubalkabara's eyes did not leave the Redeemer. "As it is," he said. "Yet you will agree with me when I say that the greatest evil in Midgard lies in Mankind."

Rubalkabara sighed heavily.

"And what use are maces and staves when the worst of men wield swords, spears, and axes? Remember the Frontier War, Mikieru. Our Brave Brothers and Sisters, armed with these weapons, were pitted against the Assassins of Morroc and their poisonous metal blades.

"Many of us fell to the ruthless Black Nomads. Yet we stood our ground and saved thousands of refugees and war orphans. We may have failed to reach the White Nomad City of Antioc, but we prevented deaths. We held evil at bay. We did what we should have."

Mikieru's eyes narrowed. "And your point?"

"My point, Mikieru, is that our weapons are instruments of control. If you wielded swords, imagine the power you would have at your hands. Far too much. The power would consume you… and turn you into a monster much worse than the most evil Assassin."

Rubalkabara lowered his eyes to Mikieru's dangling form. "Look at yourself," he challenged. "For eleven years you developed the Holy Arts without my knowledge, and yes, you have grown much. Yet your power and ambition is consuming you. Already, your judgment is clouded and your self-control is weakening."

Mikieru spat quietly. "I am not evil."

Rubalkabara nodded. "For now."

Mikieru bared his teeth slightly at this.

"You claim concern for Midgard when you brought the Stones to me," Rubalkabara said. "And yet when I—rather, Yosuke—gave you your answers, you rejected them outright. More than a test of power, this battle is a test of submission—to see whether you can swallow that damned pride of yours and see the truth!"

Suddenly Rubalkabara jumped backwards, raised the Redeemer above his head, and thrust its lower end into the rock ledge.

"No!" Mikieru yelled as the crash came. The rock ledge shattered into pieces—and the Cleric began to fall the three hundred feet to the canyon floor.

Boulders, dust, and crushed rock accompanied Mikieru's free-fall. The last thing the Cleric saw, before the rocks obscured his vision, was the sight of his former Master throwing the Redeemer spinning impossibly high into the night sky.

•••

The air whipped at Mikieru's face as he fell. He saw the ground rapidly getting closer and realized that he had to do something or face certain death—if not from the fall, then from the boulders that would surely crush him.

There seemed to be no escape. He could not use the Teleportation skill if his feet were not planted on solid ground.

See the truth? Mikieru thought madly. He would sooner kill me than make any sen—wait.

Mikieru looked at the approaching ground, and then at the large boulders that trailed his fall.

Swallow my pride, see the truth, eh? Mikieru contemplated. It seems my old Master has backed me to a corner once again.

Mikieru realized that there was no escaping this fall—and so he had to find a way through it. He decided to risk it and adopted a body position that allowed him to fall much faster than the boulders behind him. He fell like an arrow towards the sandy ground.

Then, at the last moment, Mikieru somersaulted—and slammed his feet heavily on the ground. He grimaced as an excruciating pain shot up his legs.

With one eye closed in pain, he looked up at the shower of boulders above his head. His legs had no time to recover—there was no escape.

The only way through an obstacle, Mikieru thought, is through it.

With all his might, Mikieru reached up and put his hands together in a praying gesture. He uttered a lingering Latin incantation with his eyes closed, then shot them open as he finished, yelling:

DEUS! LUMINA SANCTI!

An electric-blue aura shone around Mikieru while he flung, one after the other, super-charged balls of Holy Light into the descending boulders. The result was a spectacular show of light that decimated all the rock that fell from the canyon face. It took seventy spheres of antimatter to reduce all the boulders into a cloud of dust and rock that wafted down and sideways.

As the dust fell and enveloped Mikieru, the Cleric fell to his knees, exhausted. He had spent nearly all his remaining strength to avoid being crushed to death—and he knew that the battle was not yet over.

Mikieru jumped to his feet and instinctively leaped backwards, spinning in the air, just in time to avoid being crushed by Rubalkabara himself.

Mikieru skidded on the sandy ground, still unable to recover from the strain. He coughed once, then looked up just in time to see Rubalkabara's gauntleted right fist swing in.

A loud slap sounded in the canyon.

Rubalkabara stared in incredulity. Mikieru had moved his head aside and raised his left gloved hand, catching the old man's fist. Then the young Cleric clenched his right hand into a fist and flung it towards Rubalkabara's face.

Another loud clap sounded.

Rubalkabara had likewise caught Mikieru's incoming punch with his left hand, and now the hands of the two great Clerics were locked together.

Rubalkabara, with infinitely more strength remaining in him than Mikieru did, pushed against Mikieru's hands mightily, causing the weary Cleric to fall to his knees.

"Excellent," the High Exorcist praised, his face showing none of the geniality of his comment. "You are learning. Little by little I am beginning to see you worthy of receiving my tutelage once again."

Mikieru's head hung in exhaustion, yet the tension in his arms stubbornly resisted Rubalkabara's massive strength.

"You see now what I mean, Mikieru?" the old man continued. "It is all about control. If we Clerics did not set limits as to how we could use our Holy Arts, we could very well take over the entirety of Midgard itself."

Mikieru did not answer.

"This test has served its purpose," Rubalkabara finished. "Yield now, Mikieru. There is no point in continuing. Accept your defeat and move on."

•••

Suddenly Mikieru rose to his feet, pushing a startled Rubalkabara backwards. The old man knotted his brow, wondering where the Cleric's newfound strength came from. He saw it when Mikieru raised his wrathful face to the old man.

Mikieru's Elf-eye had turned yellow again, its pupil thinning into a single vertical band.

Still a bit of pride left in you, eh, Mikieru? Rubalkabara smirked. Perhaps it is up to me to erase it for you. Prepare yourself!

•••

Suddenly Rubalkabara disappeared from his position, throwing the vengeful Mikieru off-balance. The old man reappeared an instant later, three meters behind his original position. Mikieru's shocked eyes lay fixed on the High Exorcist's stance—it was one that he had never seen before.

Rubalkabara's legs were set apart, standing on the bone of the foot, knees slightly bent; his back was bent forward, head bowed; his arms were stretched out to his sides, fists clenched. His cape billowed up and outwards behind him, giving him in that instant a form that even Mikieru found menacing.

And Rubalkabara raised his head, lunged savagely at Mikieru—and, in one instant, the battle was over.

•••

The Acolytes were listless and motionless, yet each pair of eyes never left the battle until the very end.

"I don't believe it," the gifted Acolyte whispered.

•••

Mikieru crashed onto his back, his face contorted in intense anguish. He skidded to a stop on a patch of sparse undergrowth, every square inch of his body throbbing with pain.

He would not get up again for a long time.

Rubalkabara stood motionless, watching Mikieru suffer. He looked up for a moment, catching a glimpse of the Redeemer falling from the sky. It fell into the ground about a meter behind Mikieru's head, burying one of its heavy ends into the ground and resting in an upright position. Like a tombstone.

Apt, Rubalkabara thought, in definition of dying to oneself in order to find one's soul.

•••

It took several moments for Mikieru to find the strength to open his right eye. He saw Rubalkabara standing at his side, looking down on his pitiful, defeated form.

"What… was… done to me?" the Cleric asked, very weakly indeed.

Mikieru could not open his Elf-eye. Its eyelid was shut tight, a trail of blood slowly oozing out of its corner.

Rubalkabara did not answer right away. Instead, he turned his eyes skyward, into the blanket of stars that hung in the night sky above them. He quietly thought of the words to say.

"Let me tell you, Mikieru," Rubalkabara replied, "about the first person who ever landed a blow on me."

Mikieru coughed in pain once, but strained to listen to the old man's words.

"He was a Cleric, geared to become an even greater Exorcist than I. He had, at the young age of eighteen, matched the skill I held at forty. Do you know who he is, Mikieru?"

Rubalkabara lowered his eyes to Mikieru.

"He was my first Apprentice," Rubalkabara said. "Yosuke himself. He was the one who taught me this ultimate Holy Art… the secular version of which you had a taste of just now."

Mikieru thought about this for a moment, closing his eyes. Such power…

"Worry not," Rubalkabara soothed his stricken Apprentice. "You have shown me that you are worthy of learning this Holy Art… and others, as well."

"Others?" Mikieru repeated.

"Yes. You may think you have created a new Holy Art by learning how to control Teleportation's physical relocation aspect, but no. You merely learned, in the crudest way possible, Teleportation Level Two—Locus Teleport. It was a Holy Art I could have taught you if you had not left to join the Army immediately after your ordination."

Mikieru tried to laugh, but only managed to smile slightly. Even mere breathing hurt his lungs.

"And more," Rubalkabara continued. "I am sure you are strong enough to learn Teleportation… Level Three."

Mikieru's smile faded. "There's a Level Three?"

"Indeed," Rubalkabara said, laughing slightly at Mikieru's perplexity. "And I am certain that once you have mastered these Arts, you will be able to control your use of your Elf-eye even better, I imagine."

Mikieru nodded. His Master saw right through everything.

"Everything will have to wait another day, however," Rubalkabara concluded. "Yosuke subjected me to the same Holy Art you suffered, and it took me a full day-and-a-half before I could get back to my feet. Rest. I shall watch over you."

"My thanks," Mikieru whispered, allowing himself to drift into unconsciousness.

•••

"It's over," the gifted Acolyte muttered in amazement. "The Lionheart won… but that final Holy Art… it was…"

"The Kitsune was defeated," her peer whispered in response. "I never thought it was possible…"

"You doubted in me?"

The Acolytes froze at the deep voice, suddenly realizing that Rubalkabara had disappeared from the canyon floor below them—and that a large, hulking shadow stood over them now.

Slowly, the wide-eyed Battle Acolytes looked over their shoulders—into the huge form of Algus Rubalkabara, silhouetted by the moonlight.

"Locus Teleport," the gifted Acolyte gushed. "Unreal…"

Rubalkabara's eyes narrowed in amusement at her. "Why thank you, Melody," he deadpanned. "Back to your Common Rooms… now."

"Yes, Father!" the Acolytes answered in nervous chorus, immediately getting to their feet and scampering past the High Exorcist, back towards Juno and St. Capitolina Square.

Only Melody had the courage to look back at Fr. Rubalkabara. She was smiling. Witnessing the battle between the Fox and the Lionheart left a lasting impression on her—one that would inspire her to, one day, become even a better Cleric than either of the two.

•••

Mikieru opened his good eye.

He was still on the canyon floor. The pain in his body had mellowed down to a numbing muscle fatigue, but it was still difficult for him to move. He seemed drained of all strength and stamina, but his senses were still active—his sense of smell most of all, since it was a sweet wind-carried scent that roused the Cleric from his slumber.

The sky was already showing hints of blue. The sun would rise in moments. Mikieru turned his head to the side. It took a moment for his eye to see where the scent came from.

Two flowers, with green stems, white petals and yellow stamens, grew from a tiny bush to his side. Slowly, painfully, he dragged his arm across the dirt and reached for the flowers.

Rubalkabara was sitting on one of the nearby large rocks that had fallen from the crevice mouth when he heard Mikieru's movements. He glanced at his former Apprentice with mild surprise.

Already? Rubalkabara pondered. Able to move after only eight hours of rest?

Mikieru grasped the stems of the flowers and plucked them, with great effort, from the bush. Then pulled his arm back and lifted his forearm, holding the flowers over his face.

"I had no idea Sograt Lilies grew here, as well," Mikieru croaked quietly.

•••

Eight Years Ago

•••

Dawn was breaking over the Sograt Desert, and the Midgard Alliance desert camps were rising. Troops from Prontera and Payon were getting ready to march. War had been declared against Morroc only days before, and this was the day that the Midgard Alliance would begin their push to the Frontier Capital—and to the White Nomad City of Antioc.

Algus Rubalkabara was there, but he was not to join in either the Morroc or Antioc push. He was here, with special permission from the Church to leave Juno, to see his fellow Clerics off. He was to offer spiritual and temporal sustenance to them before they left without any certainty of return.

He emerged from his War Tent just in time to see the Morroc front set off. Knights and Clerics from Prontera; Warriors and Hunters from Payon… all began to march south towards the forbidding bowels of the Sograt Desert. Their mission: to prevent the anarchy that spread from Morroc from reaching the borders of the Northern Realm.

Then, on the other side of the great formation, he spied the forms of a very familiar Cleric, speaking with a female Knight.

•••

"I was looking for you in camp for days, Mikieru," the Lady said. "I'm so glad I finally found you. I wanted to see you so badly before we left."

Mikieru nodded. "I am glad to see you again, as well, Solstice."

Solstice returned the nod, her eyes moving down to Mikieru's chest. She bit her lip before speaking.

"So you really got your silver cross, huh," she said, looking at the Cleric's cross. "You're really a Cleric now."

"Three years going, to be correct," Mikieru said. "But more importantly, you have ascended to Knighthood as well. It is very late for me to say this, but my congratulations… you've earned it. Sir Petersen must have been proud of you."

Solstice smiled. "You've changed the way you talk, too. You really sound like a Priest now."

She sighed, looking down sadly.

"I'll be honest with you, Mikieru," she said. "Every time I see that cross around your neck… it sorta drives a splinter into my heart. I know we agreed, that night in the Mjolnir Coal Ridge, that you joining the Priesthood was the right thing to do, but… I never thought doing the right thing could hurt me so badly."

She raised her hand in front of his chest. Clasped within her fingers were two flowers—with green stems, white petals, and yellow stamens.

"We can't be sure both of us will come back from this war alive," she continued. "So I'll say everything I need to say now."

She looked into his blue-and-green eyes.

"In all my twenty-one years, you're really the only boy I've ever loved," she said, sniffing once. "It just… sucks… when the only boy you've ever loved goes off to join the Priesthood. I just thought that if I would just be honest with you, it'd make me feel better, even though I know my love for you would never be given back to me, and—"

Solstice stopped. Mikieru had clasped his gloved hand over hers. Slowly, and wordlessly, he took the flowers from her hand—then wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

Mikieru moved his lips next to her ear and whispered.

"I love you, too."

Solstice's chin rested on Mikieru's shoulder. Her eyes were wide open in shock; her arms dangled at her sides in disbelief at what she just heard.

Her eyes welled with tears. To her, this was the most perfect moment.

Mikieru softened his clinch, and he stared into her eyes with a smile.

"Come back," he entreated.

Solstice smiled, tears rolling down her cheeks. Then he slowly leaned in and kissed her on the cheek—and she threw her arms over his shoulders and pulled him closer.

He held her around her waist. She wept happily, her fingers digging into his coat in the bitterness of goodbye. That morning when they held each other in their arms, with the rest of the Morroc Front marching behind them, it seemed almost as though they would never let go.

But they did.

They had to.

They had no choice.

•••

"Solstice," Rubalkabara said, his eyes on the Sograt Lilies in Mikieru's gloved hand. "That was her name, was it not?"

Mikieru lay on the ground motionless, the white flowers held weakly between the fingers of his hand.

"How is she, Mikieru?" the old man ventured. "Is she well?"

Mikieru swallowed, the taste in his mouth bitter to the core.

"She never came back," he uttered in reply.

A strong gust of wind began to blow in the canyon from the east, and plucked the Sograt Lilies from Mikieru's fingers. His eyes followed the white flowers as the updraft carried them up into the lightening dawn sky, over the crevice mouth, until they disappeared from the Cleric's sight.

Past… Present…and Pain.

Rubalkabara watched as Mikieru's hand dropped to his ground as though it was lifeless.

So that is where you draw your strength, Mikieru, the High Exorcist realized. Such is the life of the Brave. Only through knowing wrong can one do the right thing. Only through atonement can one learn to forgive…

The sun rose higher over the horizon, and Mikieru, incredibly, began getting up on his own.

Rubalkabara smiled in poignant satisfaction at his former Apprentice.

…and, indeed, only by suffering wounds can one learn to heal.

•••

End of Chapter Eight