Their eyes climbed to a strange banner clawing the high sky, an X-cross of a silver longsword and a black greatsword, like two fangs bared to the wind.
A ring of more than three hundred men cinched the plains like an iron noose, the line tightening as if stalking unseen prey in tall grass.
Medith flicked her hand, and the women surged like a swift current; heat rose in their chests before their mounts kicked dust, because those night-black armors cut like old scars across their memory.
It was the very make worn by the Southern Kingdom Hunting Corps, the same sheen, the same craft, the same cruel trim, leaving no room for doubt under the sun.
“I say, Captain Gulo, why cross us for nothing?” a Southern Kingdom officer in pitch armor called, his voice smooth as oil over a blade. “We’re not stealing your goods. We’re paying a high price to buy.”
A square-jawed uncle with a buzz cut stood back to back with a few dozen in silver-white plate, their circle a battered shield, their eyes like flint as Southern Kingdom soldiers pressed in.
Small cuts latticed the uncle’s face like dry riverbeds, turning his countenance harsh; a perfect square face, a bristle of black beard, and pale blue eyes that kept circling like hawks, measuring every spearpoint.
They walled in a brightly dressed girl at their center, a blossom hidden in bramble, guarded to the last inch of air.
“Baron Gauld, don’t tell me you’re into this,” Gulo said, silver greatsword in hand, tension humming through his stance. “She’s only fifteen.”
Gauld folded his arms and strolled amid his troops like a lord in a garden. “If I am, Captain, will you hand her over?”
“Ha! What do you think, Baron?” Gulo’s laugh was ash-dry, a spark with no warmth.
“Tsk, tsk…” Gauld’s helm tilted, and through the visor his eyes flashed like a winter knife. “Don’t think I fear you. I know who she is.
“That crest on her skirt? Likely the Northern Kingdom—Duke Tobias’ daughter, isn’t it?
“That’s a grand prize. I don’t know where you picked her up. Hand her over, and we walk.
“If not, the Radiant Knights leave a few dozen dead here.”
Sweat leaked from Gulo’s grip and slicked the greatsword like cold rain. “You think our mercenary band will let you go? That lord of ours will hunt you to the ends of the earth!”
“Hah! Country bumpkin! Do you even know what banner stands behind me?
“The strongest nation on the continent! The Southern Kingdom—Ares Harben!
“The Empire commands millions, Regido’s development leads the continent, our military stands a step above the Eastern Nation, and we hold more than half the land like a dragon coiled over mountains!
“Tell me, your so-called ‘lord’—who exactly does he plan to chase?” Gauld’s words hammered forward like a temple bell in a storm, each step beating against Gulo’s ribs.
“Even so… we won’t bow,” Gulo shouted, voice the edge of a fraying rope. “I joined a mercenary band that’s honored as a ‘knightly order,’ not to draw a dead salary and rot!”
But his shivering shoulders and thin voice betrayed him like leaves rattling before a gale.
“Do it,” Gauld snapped, and the host surged like a breaking tide; hundreds of Southern Kingdom swordsmen lunged, steel hissing toward the ring.
A woman’s shout tore the sky like thunder. “Hold it—!”
Then a streak of blade-light dropped from the heavens, and a Bloodsword slammed into the earth with a boom, shockwave rippling dust and shoving the first attackers back like reeds before a flood.
“Who goes there! Who dares bar the great Empire of Ares Harben!” Gauld roared, anger blazing like a torch in dry grass.
Tap-tap-tap—bootfalls cut the air, and several slim figures dropped like petals on a storm wind, green, white, red, and brown hair flaring in the light.
Behind them, cloaks stamped with a black sun swayed like night over a dying day.
Frost lined their perfect faces, and their pink, tapering ears twitched like willow leaves, catching every breath and heartbeat at once.
“Ah—Wind Sprites!”
“White-haired sprite and red-haired sprite… hell! It’s Medith and Sais of the Dusk Legion!”
“Damn it! Why are they here!”
At the sight of Medith’s corpse-pale silver hair and Sais’ blood-bright red locks snapping in the wind, the Southern Kingdom line recoiled a dozen meters as if plague had brushed their sleeves.
“Medith?! The rumored Medith?” Gauld stared at her cold, distant gaze, and certainty pooled in his gut like lead.
Sais’ ruby eyes swept once, counting like an abacus clicking. “Medith, total of 368. No one special among them. Their scent’s off though—not quite Eastern Nation soldiers. Hard to place.”
“Only three hundred some, and you dare encircle soldiers of another nation under a clear sky?” Medith shot back, her words crisp as ice, no courtesy spared.
With her name now a duchy’s weight, even grand dukes stepped aside; backed by a kingdom and her own iron skill, there was no one she feared under the blue vault.
“Medith, I advise you not to meddle,” Gauld said, cold sweat crawling like ants; he’d already stepped onto the worst square of his life’s board.
Medith arched a brow and tugged the Blood Drinking Sword from the earth, steel singing like winter. “There’s one thing I hate most—being threatened.
“I don’t know your exact game, but you and I have blood between us deeper than rivers. You’ve bullied my sisters for years and trafficked them like chattel.
“You hunt my kin on purpose. Tell me… do you think I should let you walk away?”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Medith! That’s the Hunting Corps—that’s not us, the Liberty Army!
“Don’t mistake my mercy for fear. This banner stands for the strongest country on this continent!
“It’s not something you can afford to offend!” Gauld screamed, a chill pricking his spine like needles.
“Oh?” Medith’s killing intent leaked like frost from a cave, and her greatsword breathed a coffin-cold mist. “The Southern Kingdom throws its weight around and makes enemies like weeds in spring. On the road they ran into ‘unknown assailants’ and were wiped out to the last.
“How’s that version read to you?”
Steel whispered as the women drew their swords, light skittering on their edges like fish under ice.
“You… fine. You’ve got guts. This won’t end here. Give it time, and the Empire will plant this war banner on your mountain yet!
“Retreat!” Gauld snapped, and his men fled like birds before a hawk, afraid Medith’s shadow would give chase.
“Baron! We’re just letting them go? That was—”
“Shut up! Today’s over. No one mentions it again!” Gauld’s face went dark as soot. He’d leaned on the Southern Kingdom banner to do plenty of dirty work, and he rarely ate humble pie; today he’d kicked an iron hoof, and walking away was grace.
Just then, a chill licked his neck like a winter stream. He glanced down on instinct—and the ground rushed up like a black wave, his mind tumbling into night.
Thud… thud-thud… Gauld’s round head rolled with a frozen look of confusion, bumping to a halt more than a yard away.
“Unorthodox Maneuver: Flash.” Medith ghosted into view, the Blood Drinking Sword’s groove wet and humming, the blade vibrating like it tasted joy.
“Ah—!”
“Medith—damn it! She killed the baron!”
“Back—fall back!” No one dared stand. They stared at Medith flicking blood from her edge with a bored wrist, and terror clawed up their throats like smoke.
“Go tell your masters this: Medith doesn’t start trouble, and she doesn’t fear trouble.
“He dared threaten the Elven City and me, the Eastern Nation’s Glory Paladin. His crime warranted the blade, no trial needed. If you object, come make your case.”
“And remember this—given time, no one knows whose banner ends up planted in whose yard.” Medith’s voice was flat as slate, yet a sovereign confidence rang through it like bronze.
“You—”
“Move, move—”
They grabbed Gauld’s corpse and retreated in a rush, dread snapping at their heels like a cold wind.
