The barrier had dissolved. The enormous wall spanning several dozen kilometers that had been holding the four Grand Marshals within its confines vanished as if it had never existed.
“Ha! A complete success!”
Maltiel quickly surveyed the area, quickly assessing the situation with a smile. Michael, who had triggered the explosion, wore an expression of satisfaction, having succeeded in his high-stakes gamble.
Two of the Grand Marshals immediately spread their wings wide and fled from Valleland without delay.
Michael, while managing to create the explosion, had suffered a few scratches from the spears and swords swung by soldiers rushing to protect Arthur, but he hadn’t sustained any major injuries.
Maltiel, too, disregarded the spells and arrows that came flying at him for interception.
“Damn it.”
The young man could do nothing but let out a curse as he helplessly watched the two Grand Marshals make their escape.
In the end, the two Grand Marshals had fled Valleland.
Michael to the west, Maltiel to the east.
“Arthur…?”
Amid the escape of the two Grand Marshals, the despondent voice of the Holy Maiden Astellara pierced the battlefield.
The mage Bel Artura had lost one arm and leg, spilled dozens of liters of blood, and suffered from severe burns covering his body.
“…Ah, we missed.”
Arthur leaned against Gridia, wearing a disheartened smile.
Pain emanated from somewhere in his body, but where it originated was unclear.
Something in his body was seriously wrong, but there was no time to pinpoint it. Perhaps due to the hasty cancellation of the space magic, it felt like a part of his brain had been severely damaged.
“Hey, Arthur.”
His limbs were battered and bruised.
His brain had belatedly registered the pain.
He needed to breathe, but his lungs only expelled air; they struggled to inhale.
His consciousness faded and sharpened in turns.
At one moment, he felt an overwhelmingly bright light envelop his entire body, and another, the darkness consumed him.
Arthur Bel lay there, having lost an arm and a leg, precariously dangling on the threshold between life and death.
“…Why, why did you do that?”
The Holy Maiden Gridia, who held the battered Arthur in her arms, asked. Her voice quivered, and her eyes were red.
“What?”
Arthur answered with his eyes closed, as the alternating light and dark continued to torment his sight, making it impossible to keep his eyes open.
“Why did you shield me?”
Gridia gripped tightly at Arthur’s melted clothing.
“…Huh? Oh.”
At the moment Michael’s fingers sparked the explosion, Arthur had been using every available neuron in a frantic effort to deactivate the space seal that covered Valleland. He didn’t even have the awareness to tell his body to crouch or dive to avoid the explosion.
“I don’t know, I guess.”
Even so, when the explosion occurred, Arthur’s body moved.
Arthur had shielded Gridia from the explosion without consciously thinking about it. It would be more accurate to say that his body had acted on its own.
“Well, I figured if you survived, you’d somehow save me.”
So Arthur gave a convenient answer that came to mind.
In reality, there was no real reason.
It just so happened his body acted on its own; telling the truth would probably lead Gridia to interrogate him further.
Too exhausted and sleepy, Arthur didn’t want to argue. He simply wanted to make an excuse and rest.
“Think about my position too!”
Gridia shouted with a breaking voice.
The soldiers, hearing her voice filled with despair, didn’t know what to do and couldn’t approach her.
The pillar of the battlefield, who had performed miracles with a compassionate smile in every situation, and the sword of the battlefield, who had issued orders with unwavering calmness regardless of circumstances, had crumbled in an instant.
“…Position? Oh, right. Position. Yeah, there’s a position.”
Arthur muttered to himself like someone who had lost their mind upon hearing Gridia’s voice from the boundary between life and death.
Gridia quickly dismantled the protective barrier surrounding her and began reciting her prayer of healing.
It was a prayer that she offered with the deepest sincerity she had ever felt in her life.
A green light gently embraced Arthur’s skin, which had burned scarlet. The burning sensation gradually receded, replaced by a warm, comforting feeling that spread throughout his body. The pain lessened, and his mind, which had been scrambled by the dissolution of the space magic, began to recover.
“…Gridia.”
“Shut up.”
Gridia had no intention of letting Arthur rest.
“That’s right. You don’t have the luxury to rest yet.”
Arthur muttered under his breath as he watched Gridia pray fervently to save him.
“Once the Sword Saint returns from dealing with Raguel, tell him to track the scents. The wind is starting, and the scents will dissipate soon. We need to move quickly.”
Arthur shook off the sense of helplessness and fatigue enveloping his body as he opened his mouth.
“Organize strike teams. Except Bin, gather at least twenty men of squad leader rank or higher. Since the Grand Marshals are dying out, we don’t need too many skilled soldiers left on this battlefield.”
The war wasn’t over yet.
“…That’s enough. Just focus on surviving.”
After finishing her one round of prayers, Gridia spoke in a choked voice before starting the next prayer.
“Michael is strong against mages, so send the Sword Saint after him, and let the strike team track Maltiel. Also, tell them to avoid combat as much as possible, and inform them their role is merely to delay until the Sword Saint arrives.”
Arthur seemed to have no intention of shutting his mouth, regardless of what she said.
Finally, the cries came out. Gridia felt too sorry for Arthur who continued chattering without regard for his condition, and she couldn’t speak anymore.
She could only continue to pray for this pitiful soul.
“…I can’t rest, Gridia. I promised my subordinates. I promised to give them victory no matter what. This half-baked result won’t satisfy those who have fallen.”
There was a strong sense of anger and deep guilt in Arthur’s exposed eyes.
If things continued this way, Arthur wouldn’t be able to rest even in his grave.
Even if he was dead, Arthur would likely become a tormented spirit chasing the shadows of Maltiel and Michael to curse them for eternity, a destiny he was willing to accept.
“….”
The guidance of Astellara or the peace of the next world didn’t matter to Arthur.
What he needed was merely proof that this war was worthwhile, given how many of his soldiers had died.
“Ensure a mage is included in the strike team. Also, have them launch loud, visible spells high into the sky at regular intervals. Avoid combat whenever possible, but if Maltiel’s side attacks first….”
Arthur continued talking, issuing detailed operational instructions and tracking methods, and combat rules to Gridia, who was praying like reciting a mantra.
“Well, in that case…”
Suddenly, his tongue began to freeze.
A chill penetrated his chest and pierced his heart, and the overwhelming pain covering his body began to fade.
“…”
Arthur instinctively felt that his next words might be his last.
At that moment, all the numerous contingencies and strategies that had filled his mind disappeared.
In his blank mind, only one word remained.
“Thank you, Gridia.”
*
The two Grand Marshals had revealed themselves at the very back of the allied forces’ formation.
Thanks to the feint tactic devised by the two Grand Marshals, Arthur and Gridia were caught off guard, and as a result, Bel Artura suffered severe injuries.
Alongside this, the surrounding barrier was dissolved, and both Maltiel and Michael had fled the battlefield.
The Sword Saint was fully aware of all these facts but didn’t proceed to the rear to provide support. His blade extended towards Raguel in front of his eyes.
“They’re escaping! Look, Maltiel and Michael are escaping, you idiot!”
Raguel shouted while avoiding the Sword Saint’s blade.
“Aren’t you worried about your allies?! And you’re just going to let those two escape like this?! You should hurry to deal with the situation…”
Ssh!
Raguel, who had been flying at hundreds of kilometers per hour, shouting nonstop, saw his neck lightly slashed. The severed head quickly rotted and turned to dust, and a new head grew from the torso in mere moments.
“What the hell is wrong with you, targeting me like this!”
The Sword Saint was known to be someone who clearly distinguished what was possible from what was not.
The battlefield situation had undoubtedly shifted. The Grand Marshals, who had been like rats trapped in a poison-filled chamber, had caused significant damage and were now fleeing to find an escape route.
Arthur’s meticulously planned strategy, crafted while sleepless in the blood-soaked battlefield, had collapsed, and one of the continent’s rare Tier 9 mages had fallen critically wounded.
Yet, amidst this chaotic battlefield, the Sword Saint steadily carried out his task without wavering.
“We’re going to lose both Grand Marshals if this continues! You should abandon me and go catch those two right now! It’s clearly the better option… You can kill them both if you go now — isn’t it better to kill two instead of one?!”
Swoosh!
The Sword Saint urgently flapped his wings and drove his blade into Raguel’s left chest as the latter fled. The blade effortlessly tore through the skin and muscles, like slicing tofu.
As Raguel quickly twisted his body, the Sword Saint twisted and pulled out his blade, fast enough that a small whirlwind was formed around the sword.
Raguel’s bones and flesh were pulverized by the small whirlwind created by the Sword Saint’s thin blade, forming a large hole in his left chest. Inside the hole, a black pearl-sized sphere was exposed.
“St…op! Damn you, this situation has changed…”
Ssh!
The tip of the Sword Saint’s blade pierced through Raguel’s chest again as he desperately tried to cover his vulnerable spot with flesh and bone.
This time, the sound of bones and flesh being torn was accompanied by the sound of a glass bead shattering.
“Don’t worry.”
There was no hesitation in the Sword Saint’s actions.
Raguel’s body, with its core destroyed, began to rapidly rot and crumble. Toxic blood vaporized, and the rotten flesh desiccated like dried squid.
“That man, Arthur Bel, keeps his word even as he nears death.”
The Sword Saint withdrew his blade from Raguel’s crumbling body, now powdered and disintegrating.
A beam of sunlight reflected clearly on the silver blade. Despite cutting through several dozen tons of rotting flesh and bone, there wasn’t a single speck of grime on the blade, its edge still as sharp as the day it came from the forge.
“And, he mentioned today that four Grand Marshals would die.”
At the 3 minutes and 10 seconds mark since the Sword Saint arrived in Valleland.
“Four Grand Marshals are dying today. It’s already decided.”
The second Grand Marshal fell.
