“Don’t lose your footing!”

  “I need some help over here!”

  “Keep back! Fall back! We need to get clear!”

  “It’s still advancing!”

  “Fire and ice have no effect!”

  “The water’s failing!”

  “Keep the tankards between you and flames! Do not falter!”

  The current battlefront is chaotic with men and women of all ranks shouting orders, yelling, crying out for help, and calling each others’ names. Yet, even taking only what feels like a few steps back, Rikuto can fully understand the meaning of the final lines of T. S. Eliot’s The Hollow Men; “This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper.”

  There is no rushing wind caused by air being pulled in, nor the crackling of steam escaping wood. Not even the cracking of stone as it rapidly heats can be heard from near or far.

  The painfully bright flames aren’t generating any sort of heat as they expand mercilessly and relentlessly like the unstoppable march of time itself.

  Rikuto has watched a dramatized mini-series based on the nuclear accident at Chernobyl, and without being at Chernobyl himself, it’s the closest comparison he can make to what the chaotically colorful mana fire is like.

  This includes the nausea-inducing potency of intense radiative energy, which in this case is likely mana, but to such a terrifying degree, that mages can’t even get close. The only people who can even approach the edge of the flames to try to combat it effectively using various magic devices and the drought relief tankards sold by the Stalvaltan territory are those with the least amount of mana. And, even they are succumbing to bouts of dizziness, nausea, and in the worst case scenarios, collapse.

  What rumbling there is that would be suitable for destruction of this scale actually seems to be coming from far away deep to the southeast, in the general direction of the Empire itself, but not in line with anything visible on the leading edge of the fire. That said, the fire is already spanning kilometers beyond what Rikuto can see, and in the dark more than the daylight, the intense contrast of the bright light coming from the concentrated magical power makes it impossible to notice the camera-like flashes of light denoting a different supernatural battle taking place this very same evening.

  Rikuto does his best to crunch the information. His concern engaging a large-scale wildfire was originally going to be making sure that they don’t let themselves get surrounded by the other portions of the blaze’s leading edge encircling them as they make any kind of progress on a portion, since their force is relatively small compared to the size of the fire.

  Instead, nothing they have done has even slowed the leading edge where they’ve engaged it, and it’s likely true where Heralesse is as well.

  If anything, given there’s no hiss or roiling from the water being sprayed on the flames, yet the light intensifies, it seems the unprecedented magical force is being fueled by the water, rather than hampered or too intense for it to make a difference. Likewise, fire, ice, and earth spells seem to encourage the fire, rather than hinder it. One of the mages tried to make a raised wall to block the path of the ethereal black-core blaze, but the flames simply devoured the wall, gaining height and sending some of the embers further than without. While it’s insignificant, the spread of the embers does seem to further the spread of the flames that much faster.

  Amidst all of the chaos, though, something feels strange to Rikuto. He can’t quite place the feeling right away. It’s similar to that lingering anxiety when he knows he’s forgetting something, or maybe it’s even closer to a feeling of deja vu that he can’t really place.

  He notices as the current ranks of operators panic with a ‘flare’ of the mana flames that follows the stream back, igniting the water being sprayed out of one of the tankards. The entire device begins being devoured by the black-hearted flames swirled with a strange rainbow outline. The soldiers operating it scatter and retreat, which is acceptable, since most of them can barely withstand it anyways. The water tankards aren’t really helping much, and though they’re costly, they’re far more replaceable than the soldiers and even the buckrokhs pulling them.

  However, horror grips the young king from another world. One of the shenwulf operators that was on top of the tankard trips on one of the harnesses for the buckrokhs that have been rapidly detached. He flops onto the ground as the leading edge of the ever-creeping mana fire crawls closer and bears down on him.

  Rikuto glances around quickly. Many of the soldiers that were operating the tankard are too busy fleeing to notice their comrade, while other soldiers are unable to charge close because of the mana radiation. It’s like a terrifyingly hot wind, and for many, it instills immediate nausea the closer they are.

  The same is true to those who succumb to fear, or are otherwise nearly in arm’s reach of the flames.

  Rikuto closes his eyes for a moment as he clenches his fists. Fear stays his feet. He was studying to be an architect at his university. He was still living with his parents prior to that, and he spent a lot of his time on the internet or playing video games. He wasn’t a total hikikomori, but with it being a rising trend in Japan, few would likely see much of a distinction.

  But, if I do nothing… I’ll have nightmares for the rest of my life. I can do this. I’ve done far crazier. And, if no one else can…

  Rikuto sheds his tanju vest and cuirass on the run. Like the tankards, if he can’t reclaim them, he doesn’t care. The pistols are already lost to the wilderness of various factions possessing the technology, possibly thanks to Greydald or someone else Rikuto trusted more than he should have. And, the armor likely wouldn’t stop one of Daniel’s rifles, who is the least of Rikuto’s concerns anymore. Something tells the young Japanese man that Ryuogriar, Doephluev, and Geirahoel are only held back by the American’s surprisingly defense-oriented stance because they genuinely care about his opinion. So, even if it could withstand Daniel’s rifles, he’s quite certain he wouldn’t survive being air-fried in his own armor.

  “Dar-! Your Majesty!” cries out Larravu, who was focused on one of the tankards being pulled back. His sudden sprint catches her off-guard, and when she tries to follow, she is forced to slow and eventually halt against her will, calling out, “Your Majesty! Men! The King! Protect the King!”

  Regardless, Rikuto easily avoids the soldiers fleeing from the compromised tankard, and the others behind him have no better luck advancing towards the mana fire than the gatonine ninja.

  The young raven-haired man keeps his eyes glued to the fallen soldier. He’s tangled in the reins and harness rigging since he has panicked in his attempts to escape, making it worse.

  The flames have already consumed three quarters of the tankard already, meaning embers are closing in on the shenwulf man.

  Rikuto moves swiftly, not wasting a second. He all but dives onto the soldier’s waist, retrieving the dagger fastened to the back of his belt. The Japanese man already had the knife skills typical of a young adult who had been preparing meals for himself since he was a teenager. But, this world, or rather the goddess who brought him to it, granted him a far more useful innate power.

  The otherworlder king focuses for only a moment, visualizing his movements. There are some limits, but his power grants him weapon specialization for weapons he’s holding, and that specialization can adapt what Rikuto perceives as skills.

  He may be a ways off from being able to use some sort of projected aura blade to slash ranged targets into diced chunks in what seems like a single instantaneous swing or to bisect a target that only takes effect when he sheathes the weapon, but he is able to precisely slash several times faster than the soldier can react. And, seemingly at once, the pieces of the harness and reins tangling him fall away, with only a single scratch marking the man’s leg where Rikuto’s goddess-given skill proved that he still needs to be careful and precise, rather than relying entirely on a seemingly automated power he didn’t earn. It could be the fact that Rikuto’s adrenaline is pumping as much as a magic-powered anime skill, but regardless, the soldier is free of the tangle.

  That said, unlike a typical anime targeted mainly at young boys, the flames didn’t wait for him to finish his rescue. He doesn’t have time to plan out anything or have a whole conversation with the soldier.

  Blinding white embers are descending from the top of the tankard as the front edge burns away, descending down towards them like a strangely gentle snowfall that brings forth near-instant death.

  “{Catch it, you fool. You know how.}”

  The voice is piquant, possessing a sort of charming sharpness and vibrance typical of someone truly cherubic, like a child. Yet, the tone and words also seem to possess the sort of gravitas a true sage spends a lifetime trying to achieve, having reached the heights of wisdom and experience that can only precede a well-earned rest.

  And, as if reaching into the very depths of his adrenaline soaked mind, an image comes to the forefront of one of the most ominous moments of Rikuto’s experience so far. The words fill his brain, and though he is focused only on a part of it, it is the part that allowed him to take on the burden of a colossal spell like Atlas holding up the whole world, if only for a moment.

  Rikuto is already shouting as he slings his hands up, his left still holding the dagger. His heart is racing, and the fear has a solid hold on him. But, if the ember that is descending towards the pair makes contact with them or the ground, the flames will likely consume them long before they can escape.

  The shenwulf soldier watches in horror as the bright ember slowly descends into Rikuto’s hands like he’s catching a snowflake, but the young king’s words haven’t yet stopped, in spite of the fear threatening to burst out of him like flames from within.

  Mana swirls around Rikuto’s wrists, even as the darker, shadow-like mana of the blaze washes across him like heavy, wind-blown smoke. Rikuto can feel the mana coming from the raging arcane inferno itself, with the black flames growing closer and closer. The rainbow effect is more prominent when further away, but with the licks of cold fire looming directly over them, Rikuto feels like the very embodiment of Darkness itself is closing in on him.

  That said, the snowflake-like ember halts in the center of the invisible ‘bowl’ formed by Rikuto’s outstretched hands.

  It is at this moment when the young Japanese man understands what he was feeling earlier. It is deja vu. The energy coming off of the mana fire, as well as what is now suspended in his hands, shares an almost identical feel to that of the summoning spell that brought Zuzia to Zenkon.

  “{Mmm. I suppose you’re not hopeless after all… Looking forward to the future, T?ōchan~!}”

  Rikuto twitches at the piquant, cheeky voice addressing him again. There is something somewhat familiar about her as well, but the only person he could think of who might tease him this way and have a childish voice would be Hekate. That said, she can teleport herself with seeming ease, meaning she would be more likely to say it directly to his face if it was her taunting him. Additionally, as far as Rikuto knows, Hekate doesn’t know Japanese at all, and he knows from experience that the translation magic can’t fully convey nuance or other subtle linguistics, particularly if the source of the language, which would be Daniel most likely, doesn’t know.

  Rather, this voice seems to know everything, even with as little as she has said. She sounds more childish than Hekate, yet gives off a wisdom greater than even the elven sorcerer Senn that disappeared on Rikuto because the young king tried to get him to help defeat Daniel.

  Regardless, the small ember is like a golf-ball compared to the planet that was the summoning spell, meaning it’s significantly easier for Rikuto to keep it suspended. He can even feel the mana ‘dissolving’ into his own mana the way a sugar cube might when added to tea or coffee.

  That’s it. Fire with fire!

  Having made this realization, Rikuto decides to take a chance, since there’s still an immense risk of being trapped. He’s still on his knees in the same posture he dropped to in order to cut the soldier free, and the shenwulf man is frozen in terror as well. He’s stained with his own bodily fluids as well, especially his stomach contents. It’s a wonder he remained conscious as long as he did.

  Crap! He did lose consciousness! No choice! Please work…!

  Rikuto continues the spell, but this time, he takes a more active control over the way his energy is flowing. While many modern Japanese people probably have some concept of the fearsome princess-stealing beasts that European dragons are typically described to be, the Japanese dragons are often nearly synonymous with godhood, given their transcendent strength and unparalleled wisdom. If the dangerous white ember was akin to holding a baby chick, the spell Rikuto is weaving immediately becomes the taming of Ryūjin itself, a veritable god among dragons.

  The young Japanese man has a great deal of mana, but ironically, he is less affected by the energy coming from the seemingly unstoppable blaze. It could be due to the comparable nature it has with the Divine Summoning spell, which literally reaches into the realm of the gods to make a direct appeal for a specific kind of reinforcements. As a Divine Summon himself, the energy is less offensive to his senses.

  But, like the summoning spell, the flames are overwhelmingly powerful.

  If a man suddenly gained super powers and was told he could stop a train, it would still be a terrifying and exhilarating experience.

  Especially when, as the metal of the train screeched and rebelled to the sudden immovable hero, the logically unimaginable becomes fantastically real.

  For Rikuto, that moment is now.

  The flames crackle for once, suddenly making noise in protest of finally meeting a challenge to their unstoppable divine march.

  The Japanese man has to brace himself. It doesn’t literally feel like he’s holding back a train or a dam, but like the Summoning spell, it feels like his body is suddenly being crushed, pulled apart, tumbled, petrified, twisted, stretched, burned, and frozen all at once. The pure paint of the universe itself crashes against his magic-fuelled grip like a tidal wave, being pushed outwards by his mana as he pushes, rather than holds it. The ember more noticeably fades, but there are plenty more that Rikuto guides in with his magic power, still chanting the spell portion that is rooted in his conscious mind. He’s not sure who that voice was, but it seems she gave him a little more than just a nudge in the right direction.

  Whoever it was, Rikuto will worry about thanking her later.

  Rikuto raises his head with determined confidence. The flames that are consuming the tankard and its carriage, as well as the leading edge of the blaze around it, have all halted as they clash with Rikuto’s weaponization of the magical radiation against its source. Unlike actual atomic radiation, which is intangible to humans, mana radiation is merely an abundance of the energy that can bend and even break reality in this world.

  The phrase ‘fight fire with fire’ describes a somewhat indirect manner of disaster management, it is the only way to fight this particular force of otherworldly nature.

  Using his own mana to act as a guide, he has turned the all-consuming blaze’s energy against it.

  “Your Majesty!” cries out Larravu as she arrives behind Rikuto, gripping his collar. She is halted by the terrifying sight of the mana flames crashing and ravenously clawing at an intangible sphere of influence the summoned hero himself is producing.

  “Go! Get him out of here!” orders the young raven-haired king. “I have to hold it back!” The exertion is exhausting him, but he’s thankful she showed up. He wasn’t sure how he was going to escape with the soldier.

  “No, your Majesty…! I must…”

  “Shut up and listen to me!” snaps Rikuto. “I’m not sacrificing myself! I just can’t do both! So, go! Please!”

  Larravu hesitantly releases him, and she quickly scoops the soldier up onto her shoulder. Several more soldiers jog up, terrified, but it seems like Rikuto’s strategy has created at least a corridor of relative safety for the denizens of this world to approach him.

  That said, in spite of his unexpected triumph, that success is short-lived. The flames clashing with his returned mana are almost completely rainbow colored from the intense, twisting energy wrapped up in the ravenous spell. And, beneath them, the ground crumbles, flaring black, white, and with rainbow-‘lines’ briefly until interacting with the newly exposed field of view for Rikuto’s defensive pressure.

  Like those hitting it from above ground level and creeping across the ground, the flames crackle and hiss against the counteracting mana like starving demons trying to claim their next pitiful souls.

  The problem is the ground. He is successfully holding back the flames he can see, but the mana fire is devouring everything. It’s slower to devour downwards, seemingly from a faint current of mana pushing the highest concentration of glowing white embers upwards near the center, similar to a fountain. The important factor is the fact that any matter the embers come in contact with ‘ignites’ with the same self-sustained magic flames that seem to represent a conversion of matter into something other.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  If I were a gambler, I’d definitely put money on it turning into mana. That said, what WOULD happen if we leave this fire out of control? The mantle explodes magma everywhere like a popped balloon?

  A moment of horror grips Rikuto at that thought.

  Wait… If… that does happen…

  Japan sits on four tectonic plates that regularly flex the power of the great land of Japan itself, shaking cities with earthquakes, crashing tsunamis against their shores, and most notably and arguably looming over the whole country, the potential for the dormant volcano that is probably Japan’s most iconic natural feature, Mount Fuji, to eventually erupt.

  Naturally, most people of developed nations probably have some notion of a volcanic eruption, whereas it’s a government-driven disaster preparedness plan where the young otherworlder hails from. And, unlike the rain, which probably won’t make things much worse, and might even beat down the rising embers some to slow the lateral spread, a volcanic eruption from below would cast millions of tons of solid and liquid rock upwards with the kind of force that would make the largest nuclear weapon in history, Tsar Bomba, seem like a tiny firecracker in comparison. And, with that world-encompassing destructive force, the white embers that so easily continue the matter-consuming pseudo-blaze would be scattered to every corner of the world.

  Probably the only possible bright side is that most, if not all life on Zenkon would be killed by the eruption, fallout, and volcanic global winter before the mana fire can reach them.

  This is far beyond something that can be ignored. Damn it, Daniel! If you’d just addressed it sooner…

  “Your Majesty!” call out Larravu and the other soldiers that successfully retreated with their ally. “We’re clear! You have to fall back, your Majesty!”

  Right… Ready… Work backwards… Keep the spell going…

  Rikuto does his best to keep his blended mana pressing back against the incoming flames. They’ve partially encircled his hemisphere of influence, which is not a true barrier, but a negation of the advance of the unprecedented magical force of disaster.

  The ground is crumbling away below that sphere of influence, losing the support beneath it and dropping. It was probably only going to be moments before Rikuto’s own footing dropped, meaning he retreated just in time.

  As soon as he is clear of the pincer-like edge of the flames, the Japanese man drops the spell. He gasps in a breath like a literal weight just came off of his shoulders, and he realizes that he’s pouring sweat down his face and arms. His clothes are absolutely soaked with perspiration. Much longer, and he might have started sweating actual blood.

  He has no time to dwell on it, of course. He quickly whirls and jogs away from the leading edge, glancing over his shoulder. It’s an imposing foe, since the scope of the mana fire has grown to that of a mountain with the way the embers have climbed upwards higher and higher the longer the conflagration continues.

  Now that he really has a full picture of the true scope, it is no longer something to just spray water on.

  The problem is, what else can we do?

  As Rikuto is running to regroup with his retinue, he is suddenly startled by swift and powerful BOOM! that rumbles deep, hitting like the thunder of a powerful lightning bolt, and resonating deep into the distance. Given everyone ahead of him flinched as if to duck while the Japanese man himself stumbles with a sudden heartstopping terror, he is not the only one who heard it.

  That said, the hypothetical super-eruption he fears could come to pass would certainly be far worse. It’s possible it would be audible across the entire world with a startling blast that would dwarf the nuclear weapons Daniel detonated, which were only noticeable far away due to the mana suppression they caused.

  Dear god! What was that?

  Rikuto looks to the southeast, which seems to have been the origin of the booms from earlier.

  There is no visible mushroom cloud, nor a secondary glow of fire.

  Just stay way the hell over there, please, thinks the Japanese man to himself. I have far bigger problems to deal with right now.

  He looks at the fire again while Larravu and several other knights rush to Rikuto’s side. “Your Majesty, we may need to retreat.”

  Rikuto nods idly as he ponders the mana blaze.

  I can’t believe we may have to rely on the nuclear weapons of all things, assuming they really can overcome such potent mana.

  He scoffs at the thought.

  I suppose we’re screwed if they can’t…

  “Who do we have that can still do magic artisanry?” asks Rikuto as he follows the knights.

  Sir Loxourren replies for him after a quiet pause between them all. “I believe… the only one with any recent artisanry would be… Lord Gunther Montarre.”

  Rikuto stutter-steps briefly.

  “That can’t be true. He’s so young.”

  “I’m afraid that’s the case, your Majesty. Many of those who survived… are still unconscious.”

  Rikuto winces. Not many mages, magic artisans included, came out of the Summoning unscathed. And, even weeks later, most of those who are still alive are being kept barely so by a combination of magic and basic coma patient care.

  “Find him and bring him to me at once. We need to start working on a strategy to restructure the tankards into something different.”

  “Right away, your Majesty!” replies one of the other knights, jogging off to find the young mage. Rikuto knows that Gunther is one of the furthest things from being a true magic artisan, especially because he is willing to fake it for vanity.

  “And, if we can, send someone to the nearest hill top to the southeast to try to find out what that blast was. Take a sight glass to be sure.”

  “Leave it to me,” replies Sir Chebnom. The gatonine bows and dashes to one of the lightly-equipped buckrokhs ready for messages, scouting, or rushed evacuations.

  Larravu remarks quietly once the others are far enough away, “Your Majesty, you had me worried sick…”

  “I’m sorry,” replies Rikuto gently. “And, I’m sorry for yelling at you. But, thank you for worrying about me…”

  She sighs with a soft smile, looking behind them to observe the fire. “You’re not just a king, your Majesty. You’re far too important to die now. To me, especially.”

  He gives a bit of an uneasy smile. Their arrangement was supposed to remain fairly distant, but he would be lying if he didn’t feel attachment to the gatonine woman as well.

  But, before he can worry about that, he needs to figure out a way to use what he learned about being able to hold the spell back. And, God-forbid, the blast is something that needs addressed as well.

  ***

  “Your Majesty!” calls out the scout who is acting as the Empress’s eyes on the southern region of the growing wildfire consuming Centerhold.

  “We see it,” replies the Empress. The connection is via a specialized magic crystal device that allows a viewing connection to be established between two such identical devices.

  “The flames are spreading close to the rate you indicated, it seems. Just the embers contacting materials of all kinds seems to ignite them. And, it seems the embers at the center continue to rise higher.”

  “Yes… Thank you. Please allow us to speak to the Fievegal with this information.”

  The room has a low chatter from the aristocrats and royals gathering to petition the Fievegal. Sundenelle can feel the tension as it becomes real. This is certainly not a true fire, as there is no smoke, no heat, and it ‘burns’ everything. Additionally, the magic crystal is distorting the color of the image coming through due to the heavy mana rolling off of the pseudo-blaze.

  Sundenelle, who is actually in the Citadel’s projection room with an entire illusionary mimic of her throne room giving her a clear view of the entire scene as if she’s there.

  During the audience, she has glanced at “Zuzia”, who is standing behind Yaulander. The Grand Prince has her wearing a full face covering and extremely simple robes, like an impoverished nun. Thankfully, they did manage to gather enough information from Zuzia herself, so it seems that Yaulander has adequately entertained himself with the false Zuzia without realizing the truth.

  I hope she and Neith are alright…

  The albino Empress activates a scroll that she ‘had made’ to communicate with the Fievegal. Since Hekate can see her, it doesn’t matter whether or not the scroll works.

  She just has to go along with whatever the impish and puerile girl decides to do. While in the illusion, she can only make out the shadows of everyone gathered just outside of the illusion, which includes Hekate. But, the small girl’s form is much larger with whatever outfit she’s wearing, and she seems to be surrounded by an entire army.

  Sundenelle declares ‘through the scroll’, “Hear me, o’ allies from the Fievegal. We need your help, and humbly ask for you to send one of your ambassadors.”

  This is the script they came up with, since the feldrok Empress wants to make a full show of her entrance.

  Yaulander scoffs, his arms crossed. He grumbles quietly, which is even more audible to Sundenelle because the hearing of the golem is far beyond her own. “Acting like we’re some sort of vassal nation already… They should be made to come here like the dogs they are…”

  “Please be mindful of your words, your Majesty,” whispers Nesparu at his side. “Many demon-kin have hearing on par with or beyond a shenwulf’s.”

  The blond man rolls his eyes and nods subtly to confirm the advice. “Perhaps I should just have Rat kill them as well…”

  Nesparu shoots a glance at Sundenelle, but thankfully, she wasn’t looking in their direction, so she just continues idly waiting on Hekate to finish briefing everyone for her entrance.

  And, so it begins.

  In the throne room, the air itself cracks like a pane of glass. From the cracks, dark mana possessing hues as dark as night itself, the deepest parts of the ocean, and the furthest caverns oozes out, coiling into a ring-like shape that sparks to life. It startles some of the aristocrats, and the panicked whispering grows more noisy, while some of the nobles and knights jump into defensive postures.

  The triangular tips of black, fox-like ears are the first solid things to emerge from the tear in reality itself. An elaborate crown that could cripple the economy of a medium sized nation with its national-treasure-level value follows the ears, with jewel-encrusted chains that circle the outsides of her ears.

  From there emerges a stark contrast to foolish waif with too much power who Sundenelle has come to know at least a little.

  She understands why Hekate appeared larger through the shadows of the illusion’s threshold. She is wearing a bulky, seemingly structured mantle that has hand-stitched, elegant flowers forming its shape, and the collar of the mantle is lined not with ermine or cuddlewool, but instead, with the shimmering, rainbow-hued scales of what must be some sort of dragon. Unlike a dragon’s scales, though, these ones seem to be ever-color-shifting, changing before everyone’s eyes as Hekate steps through the portal. She is wearing a dress that possesses almost an entire wardrobe’s worth of design features, including layered pleats for the skirt, silken lace, elaborately gold, platinum, and silver-embroidery along the hemlines.

  Her boots are dainty, but it sounds like she plated them with iron in order to give every step of hers a heavy, foreboding sound that contrasts with her small size.

  And, as soon as she has emerged, carrying the full weight of her Empire’s power and the awe of everyone who looks upon her, soldiers follow swiftly behind her, filling out in a ring around the raven-haired Empress with the Fievegal’s tell-tale demon-staves.

  In particular, most of the soldiers are only slightly smaller than the petite feldrok teen, while six of them are human-kin and stand a fair bit taller than her, and all are carrying weapons that match their size; the mini-demon staves for the goblins and larger ones for the human-kin. Or, as Sundenelle now knows them, ‘Sub-machine guns’ and ‘assault rifles’. The human-kin, who are not members of Grendel Six specifically, are in fact, the Stalvaltan Guard. Regardless, they march in formation with the goblins, forming a shell of soldiers to protect their Empress.

  One last goblin soldier with a grey mantle steps through, approaching the side of his liege lord, and he orders, “Present, arms!”

  The goblin and human-kin soldiers move as one, standing as tall as their respective frames allow, and they hold the firearms in front of them, barrels pointing vertically upwards. The words and sudden movements cause several gasps and a few cries of, “Your Majesty!” “Knights…!”

  But, the goblin with the grey mantle, who also seems to have an asymmetrical armored arm, shouts over the din, “All hail her Imperial Greatness, Hekate fell Lawson, the Raven Black Empress of the Fievegal!”

  Though it’s plenty entrance enough, Hekate’s expressive ears twitch backwards briefly, indicating that she’s irritated by something. More than likely, the goblin commander left something out.

  “Be at ease,” orders Hekate, keeping her composure in spite of her momentary disappointment. The order seems to be meant for both the goblin soldiers and the aristocrats and vassals of the Empire. She continues, “I have heard your request, Empress Sundenelle kos Lindenmorg, and I have come to aid you in this time of peril.”

  “So, you already know of the crisis at hand, then?” asks Yaulander accusatorily.

  Hekate looks at him with a calm, and unimpressed expression. He continues, “It’s rather convenient that you were waiting around for us to call upon you in full formal dress.”

  The feldrok teen smiles, and Sundenelle decides to hold back. Hekate is not easily insulted in a way that actually offends her. Or at least, she’s not offended by the things a normal royal or aristocrat might take offense at.

  “I believe I was just introduced, was I not? I am Hekate fell Lawson, not Hekate kos Strylaph. A crisis of catastrophic proportions formed of magic is something that is difficult to miss. Or, perhaps the Dawnseers of the Strylaph Grand Principantity are not as well trusted as those of the Fievegal.”

  Yaulander similarly keeps his composure, which is a little surprising. Hekate continues, “Naturally, I could and did indeed consider invading Imperial lands to try to stop the crisis, but…” She hands an unsealed scroll to the goblin commander, and he steps forward to meet Ecklevon at the foot of the Imperial dais.

  “Please read it aloud,” replies Sundenelle.

  Ecklevon nods, reading it with a projected volume. “Yes, your Majesty. The letter reads, ‘The Fievegal has no right nor business in the Imperial territory of Centerhold. The operation was merely a military training operation, nothing more. Should the Fievegal take any action on Strylaph-controlled lands, the act will constitute invasion and be seen as an act of war. You have been formally warned.’ Signed, Nesparu pel Contarro, Commander of the Fourth Battalion and loyal retainer to his Majesty, the Grand Prince Yaulander kos Strylaph. Your Majesty.”

  “That’s obviously a fake,” retorts Yaulander with irritation in his voice.

  However, Sundenelle notices what he also does seconds later. Nesparu has tensed up.

  Oh, wow… They made it rather easy, didn’t they? We’re a long way off from solving any issues, but this should get the crisis management in motion more easily.

  “The validity of the seal?” asks Sundenelle.

  Ecklevon replies, “I would need an expert to confirm, but it does indeed appear to be the accurate seal from the Contarro Burgrave.”

  “The Dawnseers all agree,” states Hekate. “The Fievegal will be under threat of this mana flame soon enough. There are many methods we can attempt, and it is obviously better to address them while the blaze is still small. But, of course, if the Empire insists on refusing our aid at this point…”

  “No, your Greatness,” replies Sundenelle as she stands up. “And, please allow us to greet you and humbly thank you properly, Hekate fell Lawson. As you know, I am Empress Sundenelle kos Lindenmorg. The mana blaze threatens to encroach on one of our largest trade hubs. It is imperative that we cooperate to end the blaze as soon as possible.” She scowls at Nesparu, specifically. “As for a Burgrave refusing the opening of communications regarding this issue, that will be addressed at a later time.”

  Sundenelle’s golem can hear Yaulander hiss at the quietest whisper he can manage, “Tell me you didn’t write that…!”

  “Y-Your Majesty…” murmurs the lower-ranked aristocrat. Given how Sundenelle has heard the pieces, she assumes that Nesparu was ragged after losing Serrentuk, trying to organize the troops, and then return to the Imperial palace a ways behind the Grand Prince. As such, when asked by some part of the Fievegal’s scheme to play the game ‘right’, he knee-jerked a reaction because they still needed to feign ignorance themselves in order to try to blame the Fievegal.

  Regardless, I can’t do much about it right now.

  Hekate replies, “I came myself because I understand the gravity of what we’re dealing with, and I’m glad you called upon me, your Imperial Majesty. The Empire and Fievegal do need to stand strong if this continent is to survive this ordeal and prevent further crises like it. If you grant me permission, I shall deploy our forces at once to begin suppressing the fire. And, if this trade hub is in immediate danger, then I shall dedicate our forces to both an evacuation and protection of the city to try to ensure that any damage caused is minimal.”

  “Your Majesty,” protests Yaulander. “This all seems extremely suspicious. We should take time, and…”

  “There is no time!” shouts Sundenelle. “Look at the crystal! See the crisis destroying the territory you are responsible for! A problem you ignored! However this crisis started, the concern is ending it! Worry about the balance of debts when the investigation is complete!”

  The audience chamber falls so eerily silent, Sundenelle can’t help but wonder if the false-chamber broke and lost the projection of sound to her.

  Hekate suddenly starts laughing. “Indeed, the priority should be protecting the continent and the innocent lives there-in. So, what shall it be? Shall the Grand Zenkon Empire call upon the Fievegal in this hour of need, or shall I await the collapse of…”

  Hekate’s ears suddenly go rigid, and she looks instinctively towards the north.

  Only a moment later, the crystal-holding scout on the far end of a magic spell yelps and drops the crystal as a noticeable ‘pop’ sound makes it through the crystal just before it hits the ground.

  Sundenelle orders, “Report! What was that!?”

  The scout scrambles to pick up the crystal on his end, which is even further distorted by cracks. “Y-Your grace! T-T-To the northeast… It sounded like… a clap of thunder. But, there are no storm clouds. The only flashes seem to be coming from the surface.”

  Sundenelle feels her stomach twist a bit. She looks at Hekate first, who physically transported herself to the Imperial Palace. The feldrok girl heard the blast before it translated across the crystal, meaning it’s audible in the Imperial Palace, at least to her extremely sensitive hearing.

  The empress then glances at Ecklevon, who gives her a concerned expression. It’s not that he doesn’t have a theory. In fact, he seems to have a very solid idea of what was just heard.

  Soon enough, Sundenelle makes the same realization. It would be easy to forget, since ‘Sir Larven’ is standing next to her golem placeholder in the Imperial Palace, but in fact, the dragon has a far more important mission.

  The albino empress is beginning to worry, since she has no way of tracking the battle right now, and Serrentuk was only just sent out to reinforce the dragon.

  Please be alright, Sir Neith.

  “If it’s some sort of battle or monsters,” starts Sundenelle out loud. “We’re going to have to wait until after the fire is dealt with. If you would, your Imperial Greatness, if you can spare scouts to investigate…”

  Hekate nods seriously. “Yes. Though, monsters will have to be negotiated.”

  Sundenelle nods in agreement. “Please send us your aid, your Greatness. We’ll deploy towards Urflasdat to begin defense and evacuation efforts.”

  Hekate bows her head. “May the favor of the Goddess smile upon us,” states Hekate seriously.

  “Yes, may all the gods and spirits lend us their aid…” replies the human Empress softly.

  And, let’s all survive this together… Neith and Zuzia, that means you, too.

  ***

  A/N 1: Hikikomori is a Japanese term typically referring to a ‘shut-in’ or highly reclusive individual who has entirely or almost entirely withdrawn from social interactions.

  A/N 2: For non-anime/manga readers, these loosely described attacks are fairly common tropes, especially in the shounen sub-genre, where blade masters of various kinds, especially with a katana in their hands, possess skill beyond Earthly possibility, usually meant to actually imply either imperceptible speed (the swordsman makes the hundreds of cuts to dice the target so quickly, few others can even see him/her move) or a perfect sharpness and precision to both blade and strike such that the attacked target doesn’t fall apart until a dramatically long time later, usually made more dramatic by the swordsman locking the sword (especially katanas) into the sheath, especially once locked into the habaki, which seems to trigger the actual cleaving of the target. Naturally, the tropes themselves have evolved beyond that into even more overtly supernatural powers to include slashes that extend beyond the actual length of the blade, or traveling cuts that can reach ranged targets.